But a Family All the Same
by harleyquinn990
Summary: The ups and downs of having parents who either nobody knows exsist, people shouldn't know they exsist, or everybody knows they exsist. Sequel series to Not an Ordinary Family. Rated T for future chapters. Full summary inside. AU Superfamily Clintasha Bruce/Darcy Thor/Jane
1. Chapter 1

_** All of these little stories tie into my Not An Ordinary Family story. **_

_** Some are happy and fluffy and cute. Some are angsty. Some might have a trigger warning, some are depressing, and it's basically just a roller coaster of emotions that I integrate into innocent children's lives. **_

_** 'Cuz I'm just an awful person like that.**_

_** I'll try to give every ship a 'fair share' in this, but it depends on what mood I'm in when I'm writing so I'm sorry if I give a certain ship more chapters than another. Just let me know if I'm doing that though. **_

_**I love reviews so if you guys like it, please let me know or I'll get real self conscious about myself and possibly just give this up...**_

_** And I have terrible grammar, without even realizing it. so, correct me on that. **_

* * *

"Do you think he'll be up there for as long this time?" Amelia Barton sniffed, wiping her eyes to stop the tears that threatened to flow. The five year old sat next to her older brother, Phillip, at the bottom of a hill. They looked up to their father, who was at the top, underneath a tree, back facing his children as he looked down.

At a gravestone.

"It's barely been a few months, Amy." The seven year old boy answered, fingers threaded together in his lap. "If anything he'll be up there longer."

The two sat in silence. A car crash. A simple thing like that. Something that happens hundreds of times a day is what killed her. All because some drunk idiot ran a stop light.

It's pretty ironic, actually.

Everyone assumed that Natasha Romanoff would go out with a bang. In a battle, in a fight, in an explosion. Never a stupid car wreck. The drunk bastard was almost lucky he died on impact too, for Clint would have made sure that he would've gone out a much more painful way if he had the choice.

It was an awfully sunny day in the silent cemetery. Phillip wished that it would have just kept on raining ever since that day in late July. Natasha was driving to pick up food. It was literally only two blocks away. He sniffed and looked at the ground. Quickly blinking back the moisture in his eyes. He would not cry. Not right now.

Clint has always told Phillip that he had to watch out for Amelia. To protect her. So the young boy didn't let himself be weak in front of her. Of course Phillip was too young to understand exactly what he was protecting his sister from. He knew that Clint's, 'job' was fairly dangerous. Both he siblings figured that out quickly when he parents would come home after days, always looking tired and /always/ with some sort of bruise or gash.

Amelia blamed Fury.

An hour passed and the younger sibling ended up falling asleep on Phillip's lap. Eventually being picked up by her father, after he finally came down from the hill, and was carried into the car.

The three silently drove home.

* * *

This was the part Clint hated the most.

He ran a tired hand over his face as he leaned against the cold metal of the elevator as it carried him down to the garage at 3 AM. He hated whenever his phone ran and Fury would inform him that he had a mission brief in 48 hours and wheels up in 49. He hated waking up to his alarm clock screaming at him, and knowing that he couldn't press snooze because there would be no Natasha to wake him up after the archer ignored the beeping. He hated getting his kids awake, and moving them up to Tony and Steve's floor. He hated telling them he had to leave for reasons they can't understand. He absolutely hated that look in both their eyes. They were always scared for him, and they were scared that yet another parent won't come back. And he hated how he forced himself to try and forget about them for the sake of a mission. But he had to do it. He was not supposed to be a father, he was supposed to be an assassin.

Emotional detachment was sort of a requirement.

But Clint hated it anyway.

* * *

_**I made this first chapter sad so I could get it out of the way...**_

_**I'm sorry if this got some feels out of you? I don't know, it's not very angsty or depression-y. It just makes me sad, and I'm probably the only one. **_

_**Reviews? I love them.**_


	2. Cramps

_** Some mentions of... female pains.**_

_** And some spoilers for the Hunger Games trilogy**_

_**Abby:15**_

_**Amelia:13 **_

* * *

Abigail Rodgers was _not _in the mood right now for anything. The blonde teenager clutched her stomach and groaned as another wave of pain rolled its way to her abdomen. She curled up into a tight ball, bringing her knees up to her chest in an attempt to ease the cramps. "Jarvis." She quietly whispered to the AI.

"Yes miss?" The polite British voice responded.

"Please out on some music. Quiet music." She closed her eyes as a quiet instrumental piece came on over the speakers. She desperately needed a heating pad, Midol, Advil, something.

Of course, the girls Aunt Darcy _and _Jane were out of the house. No woman companionship there.

Peter, or either of her dads was not an option. Along with any of her uncles.

That left Amelia.

The thirteen year old.

The obnoxious, loud, smart ass thirteen year old.

Well, it was better than no one.

"Jarvis, can you call Amelia up here?" Abigail stretched out on to her back. Her arms taking up almost the whole width of the queen sized bed. When that position didn't lessen the pain she focused on her, rather unique, bedroom.

The teen's glasses lay forgotten on the nightstand, which was covered in paint splotches. The western facing wall a blown up replica of the Starry Night, the eastern a picture of the Manhattan skyline. The northern just a ceiling high book case, filled with books, obviously, records, art supplies, and CD's. The bookcase surrounded the doorway to the hall, and the door to her closet. The wall with the headboard of her bed up against it was nearly filled with pictures, mostly taken by her brother, movie tickets, plane tickets, show tickets, her own paintings, and two shelves that consisted of tons of DVDs of almost any series or movie.

"Abby?" A knock from the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in Amy." The younger girl shuffled into the room, sitting herself at the edge of the bed. Observing Abigail's, state. She removed her bag from where it was situated over her shoulder.

"You look awful." Amelia was nothing but blunt.

Abby gave her a glare. "Shut up. What did you bring?" It was sort of a silent agreement between the girls that if anyone had a 'female emergency' they had to provide the necessities.

"The usual, chocolate, a heating pad, Midol." Amelia placed the items on the bed, to have Abby immediately to for the chocolate. "What's the plan? Some Sherlock?"

"And be depressed from Reichenbach? No thank you."

"Ok... Hunger Games?"

"Shaky camera work. Don't need a headache."

"Hey, I'm like the human embodiment of Katniss."

"Oh no, Katniss is moody and slightly depressing. You might as well just radiate energy. And your a better shot." Abigail explained the differences between the two female archers as she unwrapped another chocolate.

"You are very right." Amelia took a piece of the candy and leaned back on the headboard next to her older cousin.

"Phillip could be Katniss." Abby smirked at the thought. "And you could be Prim. All we need is hair dye for him."

"No way, I'm way more badass then Prim." She tilted her head back and tossed a chocolate in the air, it landing in her mouth. "If anything, Peter is Katniss, and _you're _Prim. Now all we need is to teach him how to use a bow." She went on when Abigail shot her an accusing look. "What? You're blonde, he's a brunette, and he would easily go into the Hunger Games for you."

"So would Phillip!"

"Yeah, but they're just the weirdly over protective brothers. That's what they're for."

"OK, then who's Peeta or Gale."

"Phillip is definitely Gale. Mark would be Peeta. Peter is Katniss and you're Prim. I am Haymitch."

"Ew." Abby shuddered. "All I'm seeing is Pete trying to choose between them. Oh god him and Mark have children." She faked barfed. "Why am I not Katniss, and then your Prim. That's named tons of more sense."

"Because you have no self defense skills. At all. And I do."

"I'm just ending this discussion right now. Turn in the Sorcerers Stone or something. I am now in a wizard mood."

The two fished the entire bowl of chocolate throughout the movie. The cramps forgotten after a discussion on who in the family would be which Weasley.

Abigail looked down at Amelia sitting beside her and smiled. "You know what 'Melia?"

"What?"

She leaned her head down to rest in top of Amelia's. "You're a really good sister."

"I know."

* * *

_** Abby's room is my favorite room. Of all time.** _

**_ Period.  
_**

_**(Ha ha, I made a bad joke)**  
_


	3. Spider Dude

Bad.

That was the first thing that popped into Peter's head as he removed the string of silk from the spider bite on the back of his neck. The teen had already broken a handle off the sink on his bathroom, and cracked his mirror, reasons are currently unknown. He couldn't think of anything that would have caused the sudden burst of strength, other than the spider bite he gotten-

Oh.

"Well, that's sort of cliche." He sat down on his bed, sweat emitting from his forehead and chest. Peter held up his hands, which were practically shaking, and brought them up to his face. The brunette could almost feel the heavy bags under his brown eyes.

Again, bad.

The door to his room suddenly opened and Abby walked in. "Pete have you seen my-" she stopped suddenly, noticing her brother's state. "What's wrong with you? You look like a crack head on withdrawal."

"I, have no idea." Peter responded quietly, looking up at Abigail with concern in his eyes.

"Do you need Bruce? Or something? Cause he's right down stairs if-"

"No." He cut her off quickly, standing up so he almost towers over her. "I'm fine Abby, just don't tell dad... Or pop... Or anyone." He turned and walked out if the room.

"Yeah, that's gonna happen."

* * *

"Dude!" Phillip all but jumped on Peter's back as hey walked down the hall. "Why did I have to hear that you totally showed up Flash Thomson in your PE through the grape vine? This is something that I hear directly from you, but is it true that after you broke the backboard, that you back flipped away from Flash, kicking him in the balls?"

Peter didn't quite know how to respond to his cousin's burning questions. "Uh, no. But AI did break the backboard, which is why I'm heading into the principles office now." He turned away from the red head, entering the office lobby.

Steve was already there.

Fun.

* * *

"Punishment?"

"You're walking Amelia home when the middle school lets out." Steve explained to his son as they walked out of the school. The captain was not happy when he got a call saying that Peter shattered the back of a basketball hoop. "All week."

"Really?"

"You wanna make it a month?" Steve turned around to face the teen, his arms crossed. As tall as Peter was, Steve was still taller, making the blinds man much more intimidating than he planned to be.

Peter sighed and tilted his head back with a groan. He closed his eyes and muttered a 'fine.'

"Good, see you at home." The captain noticed a blonde girl watching them and tilted his head toward her. "Isn't that the girl you take pictures of?"

The teen spun around to see Gwen, a girl from some of his classes. That he totally didn't have a thing for. At all. Starting to walk towards them. "What? No. That's strange, you strange man that I have no relation too. Go home, or wherever you live, I don't know. You stranger." He waved his pop away, a smirk in the older man's face as he slowly turned around and walked towards his car.

Peter turned back to Gwen, who had an amused look on her face. "So, that guy just walked right up to you, in school, in the principle's office, and he had no relationship to you?" She smiled as she continued to play along.

"Yeah he just," Peter waved his hand in mock-disbelief. "walked right in there. It's weird."

"Right, weird." She laughed and adjusted the bag over her shoulder. "So, you better, pick up your cousin."

"Uh, yeah yeah. Right. So, uh, seeya around I guess."

"Yeah. Bye, Peter."

* * *

"You're an idiot for not asking her out." Amelia told him as they walked into the elevator at the tower. Peter told her the whole story of why it was him walking home with her instead of Phillip. Including the Gwen part.

"I know." He sighed, glancing at the old train station. An idea popped into the brunette's head. "Hey, come with me, I have an idea." He grabbed the blondes arm and dragged her over to the station.

* * *

"OK, I'm sorry, but that last time I checked you could barely do a handstand." Amelia stood with her arms crossed, an amazed look on her face as she watched Peter balance on his upright skateboard. By his hands.

"It's crazy right?" Peter jumped to his feet, landing perfectly. "You can't tell anyone though."

"What? Dude, you are like an effing spider. You're like, a 'spider dude.'"

"Hey, I'm a spider man."

Amelia rolled her eyes at the arrogant correction. "Yes, and how's that beard you're working on, Spider Man?" The two went back into the busy street. "But seriously Pete, you could be like a hero or whatever."

"Ha." Peter scoffed. "Yeah, I'll think about that when my parents let me step out of the house without some sniper protector watching from the rooftops."

"Why don't you just carry your own?" Amelia asked in mock confusion, whipping out a small pistol from her backpack.

"Jesus can you put that away!" Peter grabbed the blonde's hand and lowered the gun so it pointed to the ground. He glanced over his shoulder, relieved to find that no one was around.

"Oh relax pretty boy." She stuffed the weapon back into her bag. "I've been carrying this thing around for almost four years. Phillip's got one too."

"You're allowed to carry around a deadly weapon, but someone still has to walk you home from school? And how'd no one find out about that thing?"

"Hey, I'm thirteen. But you just said that your dads are as paranoid as mine. And for one of the best public schools in New York, their security is surprisingly bad, which just supports the need for a gun."

"And Phillip carries one around too?"

"Yeah. How do you not know this? Every Barton has their own arsenal. It's the way things are."

"I wouldn't say you have an arsenal, but-"

"I've got two knives in my boot, a can of pepper spray on the inside of my belt and two more magazines in my bag." She gave him a smirk and shrugged as the entered Stark Tower. "It's a little less of what Phil carries around, but I like, the feeling of protection I guess."

"I guess I can understand that, after what happened when you where-"

"Better stop right there before you say too much Pete." Amelia cut him off with a warning glare before he could recall an incident from when she was smaller.

"Right. Sorry." The elevator dinged at Amelia's floor and the younger girl stepped out.

She turned back to him at the last second, putting an arm between the closing doors. "But ask that Gwen girl out too."

Peter huffed a laugh. "Yeah, I'll get on that."

* * *

_**I should probably stop writing Amelia and start developing some other characters... **_

_**Oh, and you guys can suggest prompts or stuff you want me to write through reviews or private messaging or something if you want to...**_

_**And SO MANY LINES BREAKS**_


	4. Ross

**_ Sorry for the late update, but this is a long chapter._**

**_ Torture. _**

**_ Mark is 16. Might want to read 'Imaginary' before you start this, it will make much more sense. _**

* * *

"Yes, dad I'll be fine. I'm ten minutes away." Mark explained through his phone. The dark haired teen was walking back to the tower in the middle of everything close to be called a blizzard. He could understand why his father was worried, but it doesn't mean he liked hearing about it.

"I can come and pick you up if you want me to."

"No, it's fine, I have gloves and stuff."

He heard a sigh at the other end. "Alright, just be careful."

"I know, I know." He quickly hung up before the scientist could say anything else. It wasn't that Mark didn't appreciate the help from his family, he just didn't need it as much anymore. He could walk way better than was expected, could jog a bit and was working on running with Phillip. He turned a corner into a large alleyway. The falling snow was thick and hard to see through, the ice on the ground caused him to focus on taking careful light steps.

To say he did not expect the strong arms to wrap around his head to cover his mouth was an understatement, another arm wrapped around his chest and easily threw him to the ground. A muffled cry escaped him as another man caught him by the hair, Mark felt a burning pain on the back of his neck before everything faded to gray, then black.

* * *

"Sir, he seems to be waking up."

"That's impossible, those sedatives could have killed a whale."

"Well if he's awake, he's awake, call the general down here and tell him the subject is ready."

Mark heard the unfamiliar voices float across the room. He felt a heavy weight on his chest that made it difficult to breath properly. He could faintly feel the tight leather straps restricting his wrists, ankles and shoulders to the cold surface he could feel on his skin.

Skin.

The last he remembered, Mark was covered in two layers of clothes. All he could feel now was the metal pressing against his shoulder blades and ankles, he took a small comfort in knowing he was wearing boxers around his middle. He heard the creaking of a door open and more voices, this one harsh, aged and commanding.

"This is it?" He barked the question.

"Yes sir, a team brought him in a few hours ago. He's ready for the tests."

"Good, find out what brings out the monster. Kill it after."

Tests.

Monster.

Kill it.

It.

Where they talking about him? The panic started to rise in Mark as his brain slowly processed the meaning of the words. A calloused hand forced eyelids open, they twitched against the sudden harsh light. An older man with white hair and a thick mustache stood over him.

"Yes, start immediately. It will work better if it's awake anyway."

"General Ross, we're not quite sure if the Hulk makes an appearance, that we'll be able to contain it. We're not even sure if the boy has it in him."

Ross? Mark's muddled brain struggled to recognize the name. The mention of Hulk set off a few bells in his clouded mind. Makes an appearance? Why would they think-

"This _thing_ is no boy, doctor. It the spawn of Banner, same blood, same monster. Now find out what makes the monster come out and kill it before it can kill anyone else."

"Yes sir. We'll start immediately with the electric currents then."

No.

No no no no no.

They think he's the same.

They think that they _have_ to kill him.

"I'm not-" Mark slurred out the protest, unable to complete the sentence. The simple words drained nearly all of his energy. He wasn't sure if anyone even heard him as he felt sticky suction cup things attach to his chest, thighs, feet and his forehead. His eyes flashed to a female doctor attaching wires to the outside if the plastic circles. She glanced at him with a look that might have said 'I'm sorry.'

She stepped away from him and looked at her feet. "He's ready to begin."

She closed her eyes tightly as she tried to ignore the involuntary screams from the boy as the current started up.

* * *

Bruce answered his phone after the first ring. "Did you find him?" He didn't even attempt to hide the desperation in his voice.

"No, but I have his phone." Tony sighed from the other end of the line. "Found it an alley, along with his wallet, so it wasn't a mugging. They left everything thing I could use to track him too. Bruce, these guys are good."

He exhaled in frustration. "Thanks, just call me if you find anything else." He hung up and leaned against the seat of the car.

It had been nearly seventeen hours since he hung up the phone with his son. After nearly half an hour of wondering why he was late. Bruce tried to call Mark and he wouldn't answer so he went out to the car and looked for him. And he still hasn't stopped.

He slammed a fist on the headboard and put his forehead on the wheel. He could almost hear the Other Guy in the back of his head. "Not yet." Bruce whispered to himself. He forced deep breathes in an attempt to calm himself.

Bruce knew almost nothing about anything. One second Mark was here and the next he wasn't. He didn't want Tony or anyone who was looking for him to sugarcoat anything.

Bruce only knew that he would gladly let the Other Guy do as he please when he found whoever was keeping his son from him.

* * *

_ Ow_

Ow was the only thing that was floating through Mark's mind as he slowly came back to consciousness. He opened his eyes to find himself sitting up. He was still stripped to his boxers, his head was held up by an iron bar connected to the wall, his legs spread out and chained down by the ankle. His hands chained to the floor in between his legs. An IV hung from his arm, dripping sedatives and whatever else to keep him alive long enough to bring out the nonexistent Hulk within him.

Mark didn't really have an idea on how long he had been here. His body was still sore from the electrocution, other tortures occurred after the first. Apparently Ross was not happy when there was no results, he demanded more 'tests' to commend. Water boarding, suffocation, burning, freezing, acupuncture, nothing brought out what his captors were looking for. Mark was tired, terrified, and just wanted it to be over. He let out a relived sigh and let his eyes fall closed when he saw that no one else was in the room with him.

"Looks like you might need some company." The peace didn't last long, Mark snapped his eyes open to see a familiar, dark haired man. Loki sat next to him in the cell, he wore the same suit he had on about a year ago, when he first told Mark about his biological family. After a rather angsty conversation with Thor, everything the god told Mark turned out to be true.

"Haven't seen you," Mark struggled to speak, taking deep breathes every few words. "In a long time."

"My apologies for my absence, but I didn't see the need to be here."

"But you're here now." The teen asked questioningly.

"I saw you getting hurt. Well, I didn't see you, the gatekeeper saw you, told me. I didn't want you to be alone."

"That's rather considerate, coming from _you_."

"You are my son, like it or not I care about you." Loki tilted his head to look at the boy, sincerity lingered in his eyes. "It wasn't my choice for you to be sent here. I wanted to keep you on Asgard, even if you weren't the same you would have been safe there."

"What do you mean 'not the same?' I'm not exactly the same here. You said it yourself, I'm not human, I'm from Asgard."

"Yes, and no. You're half frost giant, that half, coming from me. Other than that your half Asgardian, from your mother, which is probably why you haven't died yet. On Asgard, everyone would know what you are, it's not that welcoming. And you're not the same here, but I assumed that no one would know, so it did not matter."

Mark closed his eyes again, the information sinking in. "Speaking of not dying, are you to do anything about, this." He gestured to his restraints with his eyes.

"Regretfully, I can't. I'm, merely an illusion in your mind. I wish to help you, but I can never return to Earth. I bet you have heard the story?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, though. Thor has that you were in pain when it happened implanted in our minds. So no one really blames you. My uncle, maybe, has a small grudge, but you did take over his mind."

"Ah, but I had you apologize for me years ago."

"I'm not quite sure that counts, considering he thought you were imaginary. And he didn't even know it was you." The teen huffed a laugh. It seemed weird, he's talking to god that's actually his father, in a cell where people are trying to kill him. And he's _laughing_. "Why are you here?"

"I told you, I didn't want you to be alone. What would you be doing right now if I wasn't here? Panicking? Wishing to die? Thinking of all the bad things that might happen? I wanted to distract you from that. From being scared."

Mark thought about that for a moment. This man was the guy who once wanted to enslave the human race, and now he was probably using up a lot of energy to cast an image of himself on Earth from Asgard, all just to make sure that his son, who he's never really spent time with, isn't scared. "Well thanks, I guess."

The two were silent for a few moments. The heavy steel door suddenly swung open, the young doctor from before entering the room. Mark's eyes glanced to Loki, who stayed sitting, the woman clearly not seeing him. He nodded assuringly before vanishing into the air.

The woman took a syringe out of the case she was carrying. She slowly stuck the needle into his arm, injecting a clear fluid into his bloodstream. The doctor looked up as she slid the needle out of his skin, a sorry look back on her face. Mark's senses started to slowly fade away, he closed his eyes, starting to fade back into the darkness.

"They're coming for you." He faintly heard the whisper before slipping away.

* * *

Bruce blinked the grogginess out of his eyes. An anonymous call came to his phone about three days ago, saying exactly where Mark was, and what was happening. The scientist managed to stay calm throughout the trip to the facility, along with the rest of the team, and Phillip (after immense arguing between him and Clint, the red head managed to snag a spot on the plane). As soon as Bruce laid his eyes on his son, bloodied and beaten and barely alive, in the corner of an abandoned room-word must have gotten out about how the location has been compromised-he lost it.

The team eventually dragged him back to the tower, where they all waited for the raven haired boy to wake up. The doctor sat by the bedside - he saw where they were keeping Mark, and made sure he would not be waking up to anywhere similar to it - not leaving for anything unless Darcy would force sum sort of food down his throat.

She was always there with the boys though, Darcy hid it well, but she was devastated. Terrified of what could be the outcome of everything. If her Mark would still be her Mark. She knew how bad PTSD could get, and for gods same the kid was sixteen years old, he had enough shit to deal with in his life. He lost nearly twenty pounds, despite being one of the scrawniness kids Darcy's ever seen, and the woman was barely listening when a rather gentle doctor was telling her about the damage done to him physically.

It will be almost painful to walk again.

All the work.

All the exercises.

To end up right back where he started.

It's gonna be a long journey.

But they'll make it work.

They have to.

* * *

_** Aaaaahhhh. I'm a terrible person. Why do I do things to Mark, he does nothing wrong! And then just angsty Bruce and Darcy feels at the end.**_

_** Reviews are like hot fudge on ice cream!**_


	5. Recovery

_**Well, this is a totally re-written chapter because I hated the original with the passion of a thousand burning suns.**_

_**So, for my first time readers, there's some stuff packed in here about Phil that I will expand on in later chapters. And for people reading who have already read ahead and are coming back cuz of the update, well, you get foreshadowing that you already know what it means. Hooray?**_

_**And mostly cuz I like to expand on the Phil/Mark brotherly type stuff. **_

_**So Mark and Phil are both sixteen. Time span is from February and skips over to September (literally almost a day before 'chapter seventeen yelling match' and I won't reference this in that chapter because I'm honestly just lazy and you have to deal with it)...(and for those who have not read 'chapter seventeen yelling match', I suggest you keep going to that. That chapter is like my baby. I love it. Okay, I'm gonna shut up now)**_

* * *

"Mark?" Phillip called gently when his brother started to shift ever so slightly in his bed. The redhead sat up from where he was perched on the windowsill, the rifle placed in his lap moving along with his hips. He turned to try to peek out the doorway to see if Darcy or Bruce were coming back in the room. Empty hallways. Markus shifted again and tensed up, pain hitting him full on. He groaned and Phil was by him in a second.

"Mark?" He called again. The dark haired boy slowly dragged his suddenly heavy eyelids open and ended up giving Phillip and weak grin. "Hey, kid." Phil huffed. "You're okay, you're home."

"Hey," Mark forced out, not realizing how hoarse and completely shot it sounded.

Phil let his shoulders drop and let out an exhausted laugh. "Yeah," He huffed. "Hey." Phil sat down on the chair Bruce left out before Darcy dragged him off to possible eat something. "Next time, baby brother," He said with a smirk. "Take the fucking ride home."

Mark let out a laugh that sounded more like a wheeze and let his eyes fall closed again. "Probably should." The wave of unexpected pain that rolled over in the next second had him tightening every muscle he had, feeling the particularly painful pull of the ones in his legs. "Ow." He groaned.

Phil didn't hesitate to press the small morphine button someone installed on the side of Mark's bed. He didn't realize the overdosage that would've taken place if Mark had a lower tolerance for drugs. Not the Mark even told anyway about his recently discovered heritage. "You okay?" The redhead asked, hovering over him.

"Mmmhmm." Mark hummed as the painkiller flooded his system. "Tired."

"Alright," Phil smirked and let the younger boy drift off again.

"Markus?" Phillip's head whipped around when he heard Darcy from the doorway. She looked from Phil to Mark and sighed. "Did he wake up? Is he okay?"

Phil nodded and got up from the chair, offering it to his aunt. "Yeah, tired, sore, you know."

Darcy nodded back and sat on the bed instead. She placed a gentle hand on Mark's shin and rubbed her thumb over the sheets. A thought struck Darcy unconsciously and she looked back to Phil with a frown. "Why aren't you in school right now?"

"Um," Phillip took a step back and bit his lip. "The strong bond of family..negates the need for a crappy education?"

Darcy crossed her arms and legs simultaneously and raised an eyebrow. "Crappy? Kid my parents would've killed for me to go to your school."

"But it's _catholic_." Phil drawled out the word. "I'm not even religious. Or enough of a genius to even go there."

"It's just a branch of Sebastian's, Phil. There aren't even classes about loving Jesus, or anything like that. Why does it matter so much anyway, you didn't mind it in elementary."

"Elementary was different." He grumbled.

"Okay, relax." Darcy sighed. "You can bitch to someone later, just go there before they call your dad and he gets pissed."

"He sees all, probably already knows." Phil sulked out the door.

Darcy rolled her eyes and called after him when she the rifle laying on the windowsill out of the corner of her eye. "And take the stupid gun, that's the last thing I want in here." Phillip backed into the room, snatched the rifle and walked back out. "Thank you."

"Whatever."

* * *

"Phillip," Clint gave a warning when he saw his son, not so sneakily walking through the kitchen, mutely grabbing his car keys and veering for the door. "Phillip." Clint called again, sternly.

Phil stopped, let his shoulders drop and sighed heavily before turning around. "Yeah?"

"Why are you here?"

"Ask Darcy I went over it with her."

"Is this about the extra help sessions the teacher assigned you to?" Clint asked simply.

Phil rolled his eyes. "No, it's not because of the dumbass classes."

"Dyslexia's not an excuse to call yourself a dumbass."

"I know, you guys make a point pounding that into my head."

"Phillip-"

"No, it's not about the fucking classes." Phil cut his father off and threw the keys on the table. "It's about my brother who has been in some fucking comatose state for a good three days after being tortured and starved and tested on like a rat for a week, and you think it'll be just fine if we carry on like nothing ever happened. I find that I can't really do that for you, dad." He swallowed thickly.

Clint scanned him over, debating for a good minute on what to say. He cleared his throat after a while a spoke stoically. "Language."

"You've got to be kidding me." Phil scoffed and shoved his keys back into his pocket. The redhead walked out the door without another word.

* * *

"Mom?" Mark let out a pathetic whine of call for attention.

Darcy turned to face her son fully and gave him a gentle smile. "Hey, babe." She sat down on the bed like before, next to his torso this time. "How're you feeling?"

"Better than before."

"I hope so, kid." Darcy started to run her fingers through his hair and moved to sit on the bed completely. She Mark testing the range of motion in his feet under the blankets that covered them. She sighed when he winced at moving his left foot. "Back to braces and casts for lefty, the right seemed better off than expected."

"Damage?" Mark asked the dreaded question while not looking up to his mother.

Darcy swallowed and shifted before answering. "Mostly left leg, muscles around the knee, and your hip was displayed and the left foot was bent to stick out like before. A-and," She cut herself off when she found herself stuttering. Darcy sighed and looked down at her son. "We're back to where we started for a while."

Mark stared for a few moments, when Darcy thought he wasn't going to say anything else, she started to lift herself off the bed, and he finally whispered. "Okay."

The brunette stroked his hair one more time. "You're gonna be fine Markus. I promise."

* * *

**~Six Months Later~**

"You're sure you want to go back already?" Bruce gave a look to his son, handing him his backpack.

Mark stuffed the rest of his bagel into his mouth and accepted the bag eagerly. Out came some butter he slew of reassurances. "Yes, It's fine. I'm ready, totally up to speed."

"I don't want you to rush anything. You're still limping and-"

"Dad," He interrupted, swallowed and stopped on the opposite side of the table. "The left leg has always been bad, but I'm fine. I think I can handle a high school hallway again. Plus school started like, two weeks ago." The scientist sighed and rubbed his eyes. Mark gave him a small smile and tapped the brace on his leg that was under his jeans. "I'll be okay, I'm even wearing my brace, like the therapist told me to."

Bruce huffed and looked back to him. "I know. I'm just, worried. About you." He told him awkwardly. "It was only last month when you had a panic attack and anything could happen-"

"But that was last month and this is now." Mark cut him off again and tapped his hand on the table rather loudly. "Phil's waiting for me in the parking garage, can we hurry this up?"

"It is six forty in the morning. Stop making noise." Darcy grumbled as she shuffled in the kitchen, a fluffy robe wrapped around her.

"Hi mom." The raven haired teen went over to her by the coffee machine and leaned down to plant a quick peck on the cheek before heading towards the elevator. "Bye mom."

"Take it easy today babe." She called out after him as the doors closed. The brunette got her coffee and sat down by her husband, who was giving her a look. "What?" She said sleepily.

"You're just going to let him go? You're not even worried about him?"

"Please, I could barely sleep last night, thanks to worrying about that kid." She took sips of the coffee and scratched the table with her fingernail.

Bruce lightly slapped his hand on the table before standing up. "I still think we should've waiting a few more weeks before he goes back."

Darcy sighed as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Bruce, he's been stuck here for almost six months. We barely let him out of our sight, I think a little space is good for him."

Bruce huffed a laugh. "Yeah, space." He sat back down and wrapped his arm around Darcy's waist. "Too bad the other kids will only let that space be about five feet."

* * *

Mark was already tired by fourth period

His left leg had decided it had enough of walking up and down two flights of stairs that required to be used when going from home room to second period, then back up again for third, and back down for fourth. So it has now become almost useless. His knee kept giving out at every turn and he could only feel pins and needles in his foot. The only thing keeping him upright was the hard plastic/metal brace forcing his leg to stay straight.

Thankfully, Mark's scheduled fourth, fifth and sixth period were on the same floor. Advanced junior Chem., lunch, and audit PE (because PE is such an important class, and Mark is not in a wheelchair or qualified as physically unstable, they couldn't just let him not take it). Usually all the physically disabled students had a milder PE during their fourth period (cuz that's not discrimination at all), but Mark was in the only period available for Advanced Chem., so they had him audit sixth period. Five was lunch. With Phil, thankfully.

"Baby brother." The older boy greeted, slamming the lunch tray onto the table. Almost immediately the two other students, who were already sitting down by them, got up and moved to another table.

Mark glanced as they left but said nothing about it until they were out of earshot. "Not your baby brother." He shot at Phil, smirking. He cocked his head to the kids who just left. "What's with them?"

"Ah, something about me being a sinner and destined to burn in hell for all eternity or something." Phillip waved them off nonchalant-like and continued eating his food, ignoring the questioning and concerned look Mark was giving him. Abigail had told him about what was going at the school with Phil's sudden secret coming out, Mark knew it couldn't be that easy, with the people in this school, but that was just ridiculous.

"It's that bad?" He asked carefully.

"Not really." The red head shrugged, not looking at Mark. "Those are just the Jesus freaks."

Mark poked at the salad in front of him. "Would Abby be a Jesus freak then?"

Phillip rolled his eyes. " Abby goes to church and occasionally reads the bible." He grumbled.

* * *

"So is it left or right?" Phillip asked quietly when the bell released them to head to the next class.

Mark archer an eyebrow at him. "What?"

He started to dig around in his messy pack. "You're limping like a pirate without his peg, which leg's being the bitch?"

"Left." The taller boy grumbled, hating that his fatigue was that obvious. "But I can manage."

"Here," Phillip took out a small silver rod, holding it vertical. He pressed a small button on the side and the rod expanded in a cane. He gave Mark a little smug smile. "Cuz I know you're too proud to carry around the old crutches."

"You thought I couldn't make it through today? You're a jerk." He smiled anyway and took the cane, a sigh of relief escaping when the pressure on his leg lessened.

Phil gave a curt nod and smirked, knowing the appreciation behind the insult. "You're welcome."

"Where'd you even get this?" Mark questioned with a sideways look to his brother. When Phillip went silent and shove his free hand into his pocket, Mark scoffed. "Please tell me you paid for it."

"Hey," Phillip snapped. "I will let you know that I do pay for things, most of the time." He added the last words quietly. "Sometimes, life happens to people."

Markus rolled his eyes. "Like that guy at mall's wallet that you happened to 'find' that one time?"

"Hey, that guy was a dick." The redhead stated bluntly. "He shoved Amelia. Not nudged, shoved, into a kiosk." He waved a hand in the air like that justified pick-pocketing the same man later in the day.

"And why couldn't you just shove him back?"

"Got to hit those guys where it hurts, baby brother." Phil put simply, ignoring the eye roll from Mark. "What? It's not like I actually spent anything off his credit card, into the river they went."

"Of course they did."

"Whatever, who cares, you're back from the dead. Walking even! A miracle." Phil smiled whimsically at his brother.

"More like sweat, physical and emotional therapy and a developed panic disorder."

"That," Phil held up a finger. "Is understandable, man."

"It's embarrassing."

"Then why'd you bring it up, smartass?"

"I'm going crazy."

Phil laughed. "We all are, in our own special way." The smaller teen clapped Mark on the back before veering into a different hall. "And don't worry about today. This hellhole didn't change just cuz you were gone." He called.

"Thank you, for that supportive message." Markus mumbled to himself as Phil walked off.

The teen couldn't help but glance at the faintly covered bruise ringing his brother's neck.

But that was a problem for a different day.

* * *

_**So.. there. I actually warned you about Mark's panic attacks instead of throwing it at you like I did in one of Abby's chapters. yeeaahhh.**_

_**CONSISTENCY...SORT OF.**_

_** I love reviews! They make me happy!**_


	6. Ribner

_** Oops, Guess who forgot that they actually needed to write the ideas the have. Sorry for the late update.**_

_** Amelia is about 6 to 6 and a half. **_

_** Warning! Child molestation but nothing graphic or explicit.**_

* * *

"You need a babysitter Barton." Tony suggested out of the blue one day when him and Clint were relaxing in the main kitchen.

Clint looked up from the paper he was currently reading. "Why?"

"Because I can't keep watching your kids every time you get a last minute call for some mission somewhere." The genius stood up from the bar stool and made his way towards the fridge. "And you need to get out some more man. You know, go to a bar-"

"I'm not going out there Stark." Clint waved the idea off before Tony could finish. He looked back down at the paper, only to have Tony come back around the bar to face him over the counter.

"Clint." The billionaire's tone was surprisingly soft. "It has been a year. It has been a long year since Natasha-"

"I'm not going out there to meet someone Tony."

"Then don't. Instead just have some one night stand and never call them again."

"I am not going to sleep with someone." Clint ran a hand down his face. "I don't think, that I am ready yet." He pause and look up at him. "There. Are you happy now?"

"Yes. But you still need to get out." Clint rolled his eyes and got up from his chair, Tony trailing behind him. "You don't have to sleep with anyone. Just, me, you, and Bruce are going to a bar and were gonna play drink till you drop."

"Oh yeah, that's a good idea."

"It is! Bruce is our designated driver and we are going to have a stupid, college frat boy drinking game."

"Really? What about Steve?" Clint asked with fake interest.

"He is going to stay here with Abby and Peter. Darcy is going to watch Mark. And I am going to have an Agent from SHIELD watch Phillip and Amelia for you." He grabbed the archers arm, forcing him to turn and face him. "Clint. She wouldn't want you holed up in here." He let go of Clint's bicep.

The archer leaned against the wall and sighed. "If I say yes will you shut up?"

Tony nodded.

"Then fine. I'll go to a bar. But I am _not_ getting drunk off my ass." He turned and around and added over his shoulder. "At least not as drunk as you'll be."

* * *

"They're both going to be in bed by nine, just have them watch tv and if they want dessert they can have it." Agent Hunter Ribner, sent in by SHIELD for babysitting the Barton's repeated back to Clint as the two stood at the doorway. The extremely nervous new comer had no idea what he was getting into. Ribner's original thought was 'Psh, watch a couple a kids for one night, easy.' But considering that he had no idea exactly who/ those kids were, well he was now beyond nervous.

"Good." It had taken a lot of convincing to let an agent take care of Phillip and Amelia. But Clint thought it was natural to be protective over them. "But let me tell you one thing right now kid." The archers voice instantly got more intense and his expression went stone cold. "If anything happens to either of them, you're dead."

"Yes sir." He exhaled deeply as Clint headed to the elevator.

The young Agents rather nervous facade quickly faded into a smirk when the doors closed.

* * *

The six year old girl woke to a hand softly running up and down her thigh, exposed from the nightgown she was wearing.

"Shhh. Little girl." She recognized the voice. The man who was watching over her and Phillip. Amelia didn't like how he looked at her when he first walked into the living room. She shifted away from the hand, feeling uncomfortable with the stranger. "Now, now. Don't fight." The girl continued to wriggle away, only to have the agent grab her by the shoulder and yank her into a siting position, he wrapped a hand tightly around her mouth. "Don't wake up your brother now."

Amelia closed her eyes.

* * *

Clint had a fairly good night. Stopped his on-the-verge-of-paranoia worrying about Phillip and Amelia after his third drink. Clint did not get drunk however, but he did almost start a fight with some random other guy, but overall, it was a good night.

He walked into the main are of his floor, unaware of anything that happened not even fifteen minutes ago. He saw Agent Ribner sitting on the couch, reading a book that he presumably brought. "Hey." Clint got the younger man's attention. With his act back in place, Ribner nervously slammed the book shut and stood up. "Get out of my house." The agent quickly grabbed his bag and scurried out towards the elevator.

Clint watched the wreck nearly tremble as the doors closed. He smirked slightly, and headed down the hall towards his son's room. He sat down on the bed, the boy deep asleep. He sat for a while before patting Phillip's leg under the blanket and quietly leaving the room.

The blonde man made his way to Amelia's room. He pressed open the door silently, and stopped suddenly when he heard the quiet sobbing of the blonde. He pushed the rest of the door open and quickly made his way to the child's bed. "Hey, Amelia it's OK, it's OK baby." He wrapped his arm around her small shoulders, she buried her head in his side.

"Daddy." She clung to the fabric of hr father's shirt and continued to cry.

"Amy, it's OK. Did you have a nightmare?" Clint softly patted her hair, trying to chase away what he thought was a bad dream. The archer nearly went rigid when he felt Amelia shake her head no. He sat up straighter and positioned himself to look the still crying girl in the eye. A mile long list of scenarios popped into his head. "Amelia. What. Happened?" His tone was gentle, yet at the same time Amelia knew he was deadly serious.

The little girl tried to hold back her tears the best she could to explain. "He- he touched me daddy." She managed to choke out between sobs. "It really hurts." He flung herself into Clint's chest.

Clint wrapped his arms around his daughter. He closed his eyes in attempt to calm the seething anger that threaten to overflow. He wanted nothing more than to run down to whatever floor Ribner was on and put a bullet in his brain. After properly beating the shit out of him, repeatedly. The only thing that held him back, was Natasha's voice screaming at him, that if he leaves his daughter right now, she would gladly come out of her grave and kick his ass herself.

"I'm so sorry Amelia." He rested his head on top of hers, kissing her hair repeatedly. "I'm so sorry." He sniffed and sat with her, for a long time. She eventually calmed down a bit and crawled the rest of her body onto Clint's lap.

Here is where he first notices the blood slightly seeping through the thin nightgown. "Oh, Amy." He whispered under his breath. "Jarvis, make sure Banners awake." He ordered the AI while scooping the girl up in arms, ready to head out the door to the medical unit.

"He is on his way sir."

"Daddy, where are we going?" Amelia asked quietly, still terrified from the earlier events.

"Uncle Bruce's floor. He is just going to help though, OK? I promise he won't hurt you. He's going to stop the bleeding. But he will not hurt you, ok?" She nodded, burring her head in his shoulder.

* * *

"Here sweetie, this'll only be a pinch." Bruce told the girl softly as he slid an IV into the back of her hand. It took several moments for the scientist to calm down after Clint explained the situation to him. He understood why Clint didn't take her to a hospital, Amelia looked scared enough just from sitting on an examination table, with everything on. Bruce was definitely not going to stitch anything up while she was awake. "Good," he praised when she didn't make a sound. "now just lay back, and try to fall asleep, okay?" She nodded and slowly laid down on the table, almost instantly falling asleep from the anesthesia.

The doctor was set to work when he noticed that Clint was still in the room. The archer was leaning against the door frame, eyes closed, expression cold and stony. "You don't have to stay, you don't have to see what that bastard did to her." Bruce explained to the obviously distressed man.

"No." He answered quietly, not opening his eyes. "I need to know how to kill him." He let out an angry breath. "And how long it should take me."

Bruce said nothing, understanding but not completely. He would never really understand the absolute rage that his friend must feel. He only understood that if anyone ever touched Mark, well.

That might be the one time he'd like the Other Guy to come out.

* * *

Hunter Ribner was found beaten and dead in a parking lot four days later. It was reported that his throat was slit open, he was left to bleed out on the pavement.


	7. Red Room

_** MAY CAUSE SERIOUS FEELS**_

_** I'm sorry I'm a terrible author and wrote this terribly. I hope I get the point across anyway though.**_

* * *

"Been wondering when you'd show up." Hunter Ribner replied calmly from wear he was pinned to his car, pistol held up to his forehead. "A little later than I expected Barton, girl begging you not to leave her again?"

Clint pulled to gun away and threw a quick right cross the the man's jaw, sending him to the ground of the parking lot. His expression was cold, unreadable, but his eyes were filled with pure hatred.

"I always though you were the kind of man who likes to make it slow, not just a bullet to the brain." Ribner laughed maniacally, as if he enjoyed the pain. "Guess I shouldn't get my hopes up, my guess is that she isn't dead?" He laughed again when Clint picked him up by the hair, slamming his back against the car. "Oh no, I'd be getting it much worse than some stares and a beat down. Lets get this over with, shall we?"

Minutes later, Ribner was on the ground, spitting up blood with bruises quickly forming all over his body, he laughed when Clint picked him up again and he heard his own bones creak in pain.

"You're insane." Clint spat in his ear as he turned him around, holding a knife to Ribner's throat.

"Probably true, by your standards." He huffed between the breaths and laughs. "But you have no idea, do you?"

Clint threw him on the ground again, putting the gun against the man's temple once more. "What?"

"Ah, of course you don't know. The fact you came after me at all should have have it away." Ribner stated as if it was the silliest thing he's ever done.

The butt of the pistol slamming against his temple had him reeling for a few moments, before continuing. "You think word didn't get out about the Widow? You think a high class martyr like her could just disappear for a year and a half and no one would notice?

"Oh no, programs were keeping tabs on you two, the Red Room eying your girl. Now don't shoot the messenger, but the first step is to break the kid. I assume I filled my part in that?" He hissed in pain before laughing again when a bullet skimmed his forehead. "Yeah, What am I saying? Shoot me all you want Barton, ain't gonna stop RR."

The archer grabbed the spy by his collar and hoisted him up so they were face to face, his feet dragging on the pavement. "Where are they?"

"You won't like what you find there Hawk."

"I don't care." He pushed Ribner against the side of the car once more, tightening a hand around his throat. "Now where. Is. The base."

"Fine, fine I'll tell you, I'm dead anyway." The insane man laughed another time. "Moscow. Russia. Middle of the city, hiding in plain sight."

Clint grinned evilly before quickly taking out the blade again, slashing the Russian's throat. The archer didn't spare a glance back as he bled out, already planning his flight to Russia.

* * *

"это он покорил?" (Is he subdued?)

"It does not matter." A large Russian man told one of his guards, his English heavily accented. "Hawkeye, is not going anywhere."

The base in Moscow was surprisingly easy to sneak his way into, Clint's original plan just to blow it all to hell quickly went to the pit itself when the blonde found himself out numbered by nearly hundreds of men and women. The archer was taken to a small, dark room, hands cuffed behind his back and a single light bulb shining over his head from where he sat in a wooden chair, two guards standing beside him.

"Now why would you expect me to do that?" He asked his rather intimidating captor, a large cocky grin spread over his face.

The main Russian mimicked his expression, leaning his face close to Clint's. "you want to know why Ribner just gave up so easily. You want to know why we sent an agent who would talk just because he was about to die. And more importantly." He straightened his posture and his smirk quickly faded away. "You would like to know how we found you and your children."

Clint's smirk faded away, his expression cold and unreadable while he stayed silent through his captors rant.

"Tell me, Clint Barton. How exactly did your lover die?" The archer stiffened in his chair, the mention of Natasha's past relation to the Red Room had him suddenly curious at why they were bringing her up now. "A sudden car crash from a drunk? Hawkeye, I heard you were in great despair at her death, but are you really so blind to not realize what actually happened?" He tilted his head and the smirk was back. "For gods sake, the impact came from the passengers side. Any ordinary person could have survived that with only a few bumps and bruises."

"I buried her." Clint spat at the standing Russian, refusing to believe his words.

"You buried a fake."

"And how do you know?" Clint's eyes met his captor's, the question burning with anger and laced in hatred.

The man tilted his head back a bellowed out a laugh. "You think we really just let her walk away all those years ago? Just because of one man with an outstretched hand told her it would be safe?" His tone instantly took a dark turn. "You think that an assassin with her abilities and experience would go into SHIELD with blind faith?

"Barton, Barton. It was never real! You were just another man blinded by her beauty! She played you like all the others." He smiled wider and turned towards the door. "Leave boys, Natalia would like to have a few words with the hawk." The three marched out the door, leaving Clint in the chair.

And Natasha behind him.

"Why?" Clint didn't turn his head to face the woman he thought he once knew.

"I'm sorry Clint." Natasha's tone was soft and secretly full of despair. She closed her eyes, not moving in front of him, she couldn't face him.

"I asked you why!" His head snapped down to his chest, facing slightly to the left so his eyes could peek over his shoulder. "All ten years was just a lie? I was just another target to you?"

"Clint, it was not a lie."

"Then why are you standing here while your kids think you're dead! While they think you loved them and actually cared! If this isn't a lie, why are either of us here at all!" The questions were not questions, they were commands.

"I tried to get out of this!" Natasha snapped back him, eyes wide open and in danger of gathering moisture. "It was just a con at first, trust me I just wanted to get I over with. But Clint you showed me something, what it felt like to do something good. Then the New York incident happened and I-" She paused a took a breath. "I started to do something I was trained my whole life not to do. I was falling in love with my target." She stopped again, giving Clint the chance to say something. Natasha knew he wouldn't take it.

"When I didn't report back one month a few years ago they sent an agent in. I told him that I was done him everything. He told me that it was either kill you, or the new batch of kids they brought into the program." She finally stepped out of the shadows and in front of Clint, he didn't make eye contact. "They knew I had changed. They knew I wouldn't choose so they have me an offer. You live, the kids live, I get to stay where I was, if I give them a girl with the power of the worlds greatest assassins."

"And Phillip?" Clint asked, eyes trained on the floor.

"They weren't happy. RR made me find out gender after I already told you we wouldn't. A few weeks before he was born, the Red Room set up a mark. You remember those weapons dealers?"

Clint didn't answer. He kept his eyes in the floor, letting the info sink in.

"That was my punishment, And a warning. So I was forced to try again. When Amelia was born I fell in love with her, and when she was five RR told me to hand her over. She was ready to enter the program. When I refused," she swallowed thickly, keeping tears at bay. "they set up the crash, I fell unconscious on impact. They drugged me up and brought me back, said it was me or Amelia."

There was a long pause until Clint finally looked at her and spoke gently. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"They would have found a way to kill you."

"What about Ribner?"

"I disobeyed an order. They got mad."

"Who even is they?"

"Viktor, Erickson, other people who run the Red Room."

"We can stop them. Natasha we can stop this whole thing. SHIELD-"

"SHIELD is not as strong as they think they are. Traitors walk through the base every day."

"Natasha, we can stop them. Please. You can come home." Desperation leaked it's way into Clint's voice.

"I can't." She choked out, water slowly leaking out of her eyes. "But you have to go." Natasha quickly wiped a hand across her face and went back behind the chair. She started to unlock the handcuffs restraining Clint.

"What are you doing?" He asked as the cuffs came off and she pulled him up from the chair. They heard voices from the outside of the door, their time was up. Natasha out the chair in front of the handle.

"I'm disobeying again." She headed towards the back of the room and opening a vent cover. She took out a gun from the strap on her thigh and held it out to him. "You are escaping."

Clint didn't move. "Not without you."

"Yes without me." Natasha pointed the gun to her own side and fired before Clint could stop her. With a gasp she slid down the wall onto the floor, breathing heavily.

"Nat!" Clint leaned down beside her. "What the hell Natasha."

She outstretched her hand to the side of his face. "I'm making a different call. Now go. Take care of my kids."

"You don't have to die. We can make it." He begged her. Every memory of them racing through his head. Clint loved this woman, even after everything. One of the biggest betrayal he would ever experience, she still managed to get his heart. He would not give up on her.

"Clint. They can't hurt me anymore. Go, I am free. I love you." Her eyes slid closed as she expelled one last breath. Her hand slid down from Clint's face.

"I love you too."

When the other Russian men finally broke through the door. The archer was gone, the Black Widow dead on the floor.

* * *

No other soul knew what had been said in that cell.


	8. Abigail

Adopting Abby! Yay!

I'm sorry I have writers block.

* * *

"I want another one." Tony blurted out.

It was out of the blue, he realized that, but it was true. The billionaire was watching his son grow up alone. Yes there was Phillip and there was Mark and apparently another Barton on the way, announced as of last week. But he needed someone he could bicker with, close to his age so all the responsibility doesn't fall on him if something happens. Peter needed a sibling. And because Tony just wanted another child.

"What?" Of course the only thing that could stop him was his husband.

"A kid Steve, like Peter, but not him. I love him, but I want another one." Tony's words came out fast and strung together, the way they do when he really means something. He hopped down from the table he was sitting on and plopped on the couch next to the soldier. "I want a girl Steve. A beautiful little girl who I can threaten her boyfriends with shotguns if they do anything wrong to her."

The taller blonde sighed. He agreed, all the way, Steve loved Peter with all he had and would love another child just the same. "A girl?" That was the only thing he was a bit skeptical about. "Tony, understand that I would love her, but you want to bring a girl into a house full of boys, and have two dads?"

"Yes."

"You do realize that they're very different? You know, hormones, problems, appearances...other girl things that I know I have no knowledge about. Who's gonna teach her about that?"

"I know Steve. But she'll have three lovely aunts for that." The genius leaned his head against the captain's shoulder. "We can do this."

Steve smiled brightly after a few moments. "Okay."

* * *

"Abigail's a little shy, but once you talk to her a bit she'll open up." The woman, who ran a small children's home in the city, informed the two men waiting to meet their daughter for the first time.

"Thank you very much ma'am." Steve told the owner as he and Tony stepped into the meeting room.

Abby sat in the chair by table, legs swinging from where they couldn't touch the ground yet, head rested in her arms that were folded on the table. She say anything, bu her big brown eyes were filled with excitement, and possibly nervousness.

"Hi there." Tony flashed her a smile and sat cross from her, Steve sitting next to him. "I'm Tony, and this is Steve." Steve gave a small wave if a greeting.

"Hi." The blonde girl said quietly. "I'm Abigail, but I like to be called Abby."

"That's a pretty name." Steve complimented. "How are old are you Abby?" Of course, both men already knew almost everything about her, it was a bonding technique.

"Four... And a half." She added proudly

Tony smiled at her again. "Really? We have a son who's four."

"You two, together?" She asked, sort of confused.

"Yes." Steve answered simply, hoping that she didn't think there was anything wring with that. "We are married."

"It's a little different than what you might be used to, Abby, but we're just the same as you are." Tony expanded.

"Is different, OK?"

"Different is great."

"Good, I like different." She grinned back at them. "I like you guys."

Tony scooted his chair over and out an arm around Steve's waist. "We like you too Abby."

* * *

Abby had a bit more of a difficult adoption process. Being a little older than Peter was, they had to meet with her often instead of just taking her home. After a few months of just weekly visits, playing, talking, meeting Peter, and the other members taking up space in the tower, the adoption agency was convinced than Abigail was comfortable enough with Tony and Steve to finally have her move in with them permanently.

It was hard to believe that was only two months ago.

A month before she called Tony 'daddy' and Steve "poppy' for the first time.

* * *

Seriously, if anyone has ideas, message me.

Reviews are love!


	9. You'll Miss the Best Things

My attempt at some fluffy stuff...

Phillip is two years older than whatever I say Amelia is.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Phillip asked his four year old sister sitting next to him on the blanket. Her eyes were closed as the family sat in the park, watching the Fourth of July fireworks explode in the sky.

"The booms are loud." Amelia told him between the noise, eyes still closed tight.

"Well you don't cover your eyes." He pointed out as it if was obvious to the child. "You cover your ears. Now open them." He told her as he went to kneel behind her. Phillip cupped his hands around his sister's ears, blocking out most of the sound. He grinned when the girl awed at the colorful fireworks in the night sky.

Clint smiled at his kids, Natasha lay in his lap. She turned around and he pressed their lips together. The archer appreciated the little moments they had to be normal.

"Why didn't you close your eyes Philly?" Amelia asked the red head when the show ended.

He grabbed her hand as they walked back to the car. "Because you'll miss the best things if you keep your eyes closed.

* * *

The thunder was loud along with the roaring wind outside the tower. Amelia and Phillip along with the other kids sat in the living room, the volume up on the TV to block out the noise. A loud crack of thunder and lighting had the electricity suddenly shut off.

A small 'dammit point break' could be heard from Tony, knowing only a storm stirred up by a god could knock out his power.

The seven year old Amelia had her eyes closed tight again, scared by the sudden darkness. She pressed her hands over her eyelids. A small pair of palms pulled them away from her face.

"C'mon Amelia, you'll miss the bed things if your eyes are closed." Phillip smiled at her when she slowly lifted her eyelids. He pulled over to the window to look out on the balcony. A small tornado of wind circled the platform, followed by a massive amount of lighting.

"Wow." The blonde gaped as she was suddenly presented with the sight of her uncle Thor. Armor and hammer and all, standing casually on the balcony. She had seen the god many times, but never his flashy entrances.

"See, I told you." Phil teased as they ran out to greet the Asgardian.

* * *

"This was _not_ a good idea Phil." The thirteen year old told her brother, head buried in her arms as the horror movie played across the screen.

"Oh come on Amy, it's not like you /begged/ to stay down here with us." The older boy joked, gesturing to the older kids in the basement.

"You told me it was scary, you didn't tell me this was a freaking nightmare on a screen."

"Just open your eyes, you're going to miss the best part." He nudged his sister's shoulder. She lifted her head just in time to see the main characters set fire to Freddy Kruger.

"How is that the best part?" She asked, rather disrupted red by the vivid gore.

"Not in the movie," Phillip said. "_that_ is the best part." He gestured to Peter's disgusted and disturbed face. The two laughed quietly at the sight.

* * *

It was stupidly quiet. Clint was asleep on the right side of the bed, probably involuntarily, running nearly 72 hours without sleep had to cause problems. Everyone else had already gone back home. Only the sound of a heart monitor could be heard, along with the occasional sniff from Amelia.

The eighteen year old rested her head and arms on the hospital bed next to her brother. She glanced up at his face, it was almost like it got worse every time. The bruises got darker, the cuts got deeper. The stitches did not help.

It was stupid why he's even here, Phillip and Clint were doing a simple hit and run, nothing easier, it had been done a hundred times. What was different was that nearly half the cars parked out in front if the mark's house were rigged with C4. Phil was on front surveillance, apparently the target thought he was getting too close for comfort when they saw the same kid walk past the house the third time.

Amelia took hold of the hand that was in front of her, gently running her thumb across the palm. "C'mon Philly." She whispered his nickname from when they were little. "Open your eyes for me this time." The blonde sighed after a few moments and buried her head back in her arms. She peeked at her watch, 53 hours till her graduation ceremony. Students weren't required to walk across the stage, but it was sort of tradition to spit in your hand before shaking satan/the principal's hand.

The girl laid her head back down on the soft-but-not-really-

comfortable mattress. Her hand still twinned with Phillips. After a while she found herself drifting off until pressure tightened around her thumb. The blonde's head shot up and found her brother's face twisted into a smirk, gray eyes tired but shining.

"Hey." He greeted with a rough voice.

"Hey?" Amelia challenged. "Hey? You have us all scared to death and you say, 'hey'?"

Phillip laughed a bit before teasing her. "You know how I love to be Ron Weasley."

"Oh, shut up."

The red head smiled again and glanced up at the wall clock. "Didn't miss it, did I?"

"No, not yet."

"Good." He nodded his head. "You know you'll miss the best things if you keep your eyes closed."


	10. Chapter 10

Abby couldn't help but laugh. One day, that was all that was asked for. One simple little day where she didn't have to worry if her parents were coming home from Tokyo or wherever they are. One day where she didn't have to think about super villains or the press or whatever the hell is going on with Peter, and all the weird sighting of a lizard in the city.

Which was exactly what pretty much _everyone_ was worried about now.

Mostly because of the said lizard attacking their school.

Tons of other students crowded halls to get out of the building. Some calling parents, some simply running for the hills, other being complete idiots and staring at the thing. To say Abigail was any of the three was a complete lie. She was stupid enough to run towards the creature.

Being shoved the other way by a stampede of teens, Abby felt a hand wrap around her arm.

"What the hell are you doing?" Phillip was yelling over the others.

"Where's Peter?"

"Don't know. Mark?"

"I saw him get out, call the tower. Get someone over here before Pete does something stupid."

"And I ask again, what exactly are you doing?" Phil questioned her, gesturing to the direction of the lizard.

The older girl shrugged off his arm and drew in a deep breath. "Something stupid with him." She ran off.

* * *

Abby quietly ran down the hall. She rounded a corner and was greeted with the sight of a lizard trapped in an elaborate web, along with Spiderman throwing Gwen Stacy out of the window. "Hol-y shit."

The red and blue hero's head snapped to the side at her voice. "Get out of here!" He warned, waving an arm to the door behind her. Abby didn't move.

His voice.

"Peter." The realization washed over her all at once. "Oh god I'm such an idiot!"

"Excuse me? Are you just all together ignoring the dangerous thing right behind me?"

"Oh, shut up you." Abby pointed an accusing finger at him. "Don't even pretend anymore. Oh god. I knew it! I knew it was you and I didn't say anything!" She ran her fingers through her messy blonde hair. "And did you just /throw Gwen out if a window?"

"Are we seriously having this conversation right now?" Peter grabbed both her shoulders. "You. Need. To. Get. Out." The lizard behind him started to break the webbing he was restrained in. "See? Stay here."

"Sort of sending me mix signals Pete!" Abby threw her arms up in frustration as Peter ran off to chase to beast. "Please don't die."

* * *

"Are you completely _fucking_ insane!" Abigail shouted as she paced the living room. Peter sat on the couch, the evidence of the battle between him and Dr. Connors was obvious from the cuts on his face. "You know you could have gotten killed right?"

"Abby, I'm sure I'm going to get this lecture later from dad and pops when they get back."

"I'm sure you will, but I just feel like yelling at you."

Peter sat silent for a few seconds before whispering. "Captain Stacy died."

"As in, Gwen's dad?"

"Yeah."

Abby sat down next to the teen. "It's not your fault." She said quietly.

"He told me," Peter looked at the ground. "To keep Gwen out of it."

"Are you going to?"

"Probably." The brunette sighed and leaned back on the couch. He turned his head to look at his sister. "Are you okay?"

Abby had to laugh at that. "You're the one who got owned by a lizard."

"Hey, I won. I saved hundreds of people."

"Technically, all you did was reverse the lizard potion or whatever. That's just righting a wrong."

"Shut up, I'm awesome."

* * *

_** Sorry for the late update, but this look me forever to write! I actually liked the Amazing Spider-man so I wanted that to tie in with the story a bit. **_


	11. AU to my AU (AU-ception)

_**1) Forget to mention that Abby and Peter were in their junior year at high school and about 17 years old. **_

_**2) I told myself I should write something for Mark and Darcy, which I will... eventually.**_

_** But I couldn't get the thought of 'what if the the Red Room took Amelia by force and just wasted Clint and Natasha and didn't bother about Phillip' out of my head. So I wrote an AU to my AU. **_

_** Ugh, I'm a terrible person.**_

_** Amelia's 17 and Phillip's 19 **_

* * *

Amelia didn't ask a single question when she was shipped out to the States. She hasn't questioned a mark in nearly four years. Questions were doubting superiors, doubting superiors was disobeying orders. Disobeying order got you killed in the Red Room. The only thing that she had known for the past twelve years, she barely remembered her time before it. She vaguely remembered to the men who showed up at a house, she's guessing it was hers, shot two people, possibly her parents, took her and left. At seventeen she was one of the best operatives the Red Room has ever had. She'd taken out more marks than any other Agent at her level.

So some random community college student in New York was nothing to Amelia. Another face the program wanted wiped out, who cares? From only a few days of observation, Phillip Barton seemed like just a waste of her time and skill. He lived in a small, old house on campus with two other boys. They might not have to die, if they get out of the girl's way.

Around three AM was when Amelia silently slipped through the window of the home. The counters of the kitchen were littered with empty take-out food and leftover trays, pop cans, beer cans, pizza boxes. 'Americans' Amelia thought to herself.

The assassin started to make her way towards the stairs, a small reflection of light zipping across the wall catching her eye. Amelia managed to spin around quickly, blocking her attacker and the knife in his right fist. The left came swinging around to plant a hit to her ribs, which she quickly slid into a splits to avoid. She swung her legs at her targets feet, to have him jump up and flip over Amelia.

The girl spun around and lifted herself into a standing position, unsheathing a knife from her belt to slash the man's throat. He ducked his head at the last second, the blade leaving a scratch in the wall. Phillip pinned Amelia's gloved right hand with the knife in it to the wall, he went to stand behind her, quickly taking her other arm and twisting it behind her back to pin the rest of her body to the wall.

"You're not as pathetic as I thought." Amelia hummed.

"I suppose your goal is to kill me?" He spat, tone dark.

"What gave me away?" She leaned her head back and shook her blonde hair out of her face.

Phillip huffed an unamused laugh. "You Red Room assassins are all the same. Kill because it's fun, but turn the gun on them and all the laughs are gone."

"Well," Amelia stated as matter of fact. "You should know that I am _not_, like the other agents." She pressed her index finger and her thumb together, activating an electrical charge in the cylinders on her wrist of her right glove. Her targets hand instinctually shot back. Amelia slammed her free elbow into his nose, freeing her other arm when the one pinning her against the wall shot to its owners face. Amelia planted a boot to his abdomen, making Phillip lean forward and Amelia elbow the back of his neck. Phillip lost all feeling below his neck in a matter of seconds and collapsed to the floor.

"Relax." She said, crouching down to his level. "It's not permanent, just a little shock to the nerves to make sure you don't go anywhere." She held up her hand with the blue cylinders on the wrist. "You like these? Red Room calls them the Widow's Bite, said only one other agent has ever had the privilege of wearing them as a weapon them as a weapon."

"So you're pretty high on Russia's assassin food chain?" The teen asked, random twitches going through his body.

"I guess you could say that." She rested her arms on her knees and looked down at him. "But the question I have is why are _you_ such a high target on the food chain?"

"It's a vengeance thing."

"Ooh," the interest in Amelia's voice was almost chilling. She smirked and sat down with her legs crossed, resembling more of the child she was rather than the assassin. "Tell me about it."

Phillip shifted his head to face her more. The blonde hair flowing to her bicep, the faintly familiar glowing green eyes. "Why?"

"Call it general curiosity. Instructors don't tell us anything."

"Your, _instructors_," he spat. "came to my home in the middle of the night. They took my sister, and murdered my parents. I was seven, she was five."

"She's probably dead." Amelia shrugged nonchalantly, many of the girls die before they reach twelve.

"I don't think so."

Amelia eyed him wearily. "How do you figure?"

Phillip gave her a small smirk. "I'm staring right at her."

* * *

_** Oh come on, who wouldn't remember their little sister if the last you saw her was when she was screaming for help? Phillip would rember that for the rest of his life.**_


	12. The Doctor

_** Hope some of you guys watch Doctor Who... It's on Netflix if you want to try it out.**_

_** Yes, I wanted to do a crossover so I did. It's 11 by the way.**_

_** And Mark is 14**_

* * *

"Dad?" Mark wandered into the kitchen at 1 AM on Christmas Eve when he heard some pots clanging. The thirteen, now fourteen year old turned on the light and was greeted to the sight of a strange man with a bow tie rummaging through the cabinets, his head popped out with a bag of chips between his teeth.

"Aha, there you are." He opened his mouth in a wide smile, the chips falling to the floor. He closed the doors to the cabinet and started to walk towards the teen. "You must be Marcus," He talked fast and had a british accent. "hello sorry I've come so very late but I wanted to come here and just say, Merry Christmas!" He spread his arms out wide.

Mark said nothing as he gaped at the man, he had never really been into those British shows that Phil, Amy or Abby would watch. But he knew the mad man with a box when he saw him. "I'm sorry, but-"

"Oh! Of course!" He interrupted. "I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor who?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" The Doctor smiled as teased the teen. He turned around and opened the fridge. "Now, before we start, I require a slice of watermelon, the knowledge of your middle name, your fathers full name, the date of your birth, and some whip cream."

"Oookay." He waved off his concerns about a complete stranger in his house and received the food The Doctor requested. They sat down at the table, The Doctor spraying the canned whip cream in his mouth before the watermelon.

"Now, he said in between mouthfuls. "Your fathers name?"

"Bruce." Mark answered simply.

"Your middle name?"

"Robert."

"Why is it that?"

"It's my father's name."

"Ah!" The Doctor pointed a finger at Mark. "You just said his name was Bruce."

"People call him that."

"Why not Robert? Robert's a fine name, why not call him Robert? Or Rob?"

"I don't know! People just call him Bruce."

"Alright, alright. Now, what is your date of birth?"

Mark put his feet up on the table and glanced down a the wood floor. "Would you like the guesstimate, or the one where everyone just goes along with."

"You don't know your own birthday?" The Doctor squinted at him, leaning across the table.

"Does it matter?"

"No, but tell me the thing that everyone goes a long with."

Mark looked at the clock on the wall, a little past one thirty. "Today."

"Ah! Wonderful! All the more reason I'm here. Come with me." He grabbed the boy's wrist, dragging him out of the chair (he did not collapse, he tripped over the chair leg) and into the living room. A large blue Police Box stood in the middle of the room.

"Whoa." Mark gaped.

"I know." Doctor smiled widely, almost proudly. "It's called the TARDIS. It can go anywhere in time or space. Which, is why I am here. Stay." He pointed a finger at Mark before pushing open the door.

From the glimpse that the teen saw inside of the box, it was rather roomy.

The Doctor emerged from the box, carrying a small golden figurine of a twelve legged horse. "Here." He held the horse out to Mark. "Picked up in the world of Aesir, tall man, black hair, marvelous chin structure. Told me to give it to you next time I go by Earth."

"Um, thanks. I guess." He took the statue awkwardly from The Doctor's hands.

"No bother," The time lord started towards the TARDIS and shouted back to Mark over his shoulder. "now Merry Christmas. Be a good boy, respect your parents, do your homework, stay in school and happy birthday!"

The door shut and not much later the TARDIS slowly faded away. Mark was left gaping with a strange statue, a kitchen to clean and quite a story.


	13. Plot Twist?

_** Prepare for a looooottt of quotation marks. **_

_** Abby: 17.9 (senior)**_

_** Phillip: 16.8 (Junior)**_

_** (yes, I'm that exact)**_

* * *

Abigail Emma Rodgers has seen a variety of shit. Strange as in her papa dressed in tights. Cool as in her dad as Iron Man. Awkward as in asking her Aunt Darcy for information that her dads did not have about women.

All though nothing was as surprising as seeing what was in one of the schools supply closets.

Phillip. Backed against the wall. Making out.

With another boy.

"Oh my god." Abigail only stood in doorway, a shocked smile across her face.

The two boys split apart immediately after her voice was heard. Robert 'Bobby' Drake took one glance at her and immediately looked to Phillip, panicking. "Abby," Phil warned. "Not a word."

The blonde expelled a small laugh before speaking again. "O-K. I'm just gonna... go." She inched her hand towards the door handle, slowly closing it. "Just keep... doin what you're doin." She closed the door and managed to keep quiet all of ten seconds before racing down the halls, screaming for Amelia.

* * *

Phillip almost succeeded in getting into his car in the school's parking garage before Abigail caught his wrist and turned him around to face her. The two stared at each other in silence for a few seconds.

"Well?" Phillip asked. "C'mon, say it."

"You're as straight as a circle!" She almost yelled in.. confused excitement? "And to think you're off being gay with _Bobby Drake_ the freaking 'Ice Man'. You guys were practically having sex, seriously, Bobby was dominating you!"

"He was _not dominating_ me Abby."

"Sweetie if you two were in a bed you'd be on the bottom. Topper is the dominator."

"I don't think 'dominator' is a word.."

"It doesn't matter!" She threw her hands up in air. "You're gay, my dad was wrong and I was right!"

"Wait, you knew?" He asked her disbelief.

"I... had suspicions.."

"And you told Tony about them?"

"Well, isn't he supposed to have a good gaydar or something?"

"Apparently not that good..."

"Again, It doesn't matter. Have you told anyone else?"

"Nope."

"Can_ I_ tell them?"

"No! Abby, no one is going to find out, not Mark, not Pete, not Amy."

"Oh well.. I already told Amy."

"Of course you did." Phillip rolled his eyes and turned back towards the car. Abby reached out a hand to stop his shoulder.

"It's not like anyone's going to care, you know. Like, they'll care but, they won't, get mad or whatever you're worried about. At least, not at home."

He sighed before shrugging off her hand. "I know." He climbed into the drivers seat and shut the door, Abby eventually started walking towards her own car. "It's not you guys I'm worried about knowing."

* * *

_** I actually hope this is a plot twist for you guys and not something were expecting...**_


	14. Sick: Mark

_** Finally did that Mark+Darcy thing! **_

_** The wittle Marky is only four.**_

* * *

"Moooooommm!" Darcy heard the whine all the way from the kitchen. She put down her coffee, turned on the 'mom mode' and walked into Mark's room.

"Hey baby." She sat down on his bad started to run her fingers through his hair. "What's up?"

The boy curled into his stomach. "My tummy hurts." He stirred a bit before a small coughing fit came. "And my froat."

Darcy made a little sad face and moved to sit against the headboard. Mark almost never got sick, but when the kid did, it was usually pretty bad. She pulled the boy next to her and put a hand lightly on his forehead. "You're a little hot babe, wanna come watch tv with me in the living room? It's cooler out there."

"Do I have to walk?" Mark groaned and looked up to his mother. Being sick with a nasty fever didn't leave him too eager to exert the energy it took him to make it there without any help.

"Gotta practice babe." Darcy looked back at him sympathetically. Bruce was starting to tell her that she needed to stop babying Mark, but he will forever be that little crying baby she found almost four yeas ago.

"But mommy." He whined and dug his head in her thigh. He coughed a bit again and sniffed loudly.

'Oh screw it' Darcy said in her mind. "All right, fine." She shifted him into her arms and placed him on her hip when she stood up off the bed. They walked into the living room "But don't tell your daddy I'm not making you." He nodded and she kissed his forehead. "Good boy."

She laid him on the couch and turned on the Disney channel (the _good_ Disney channel, with all the older shows and not that Dog With a Blog crap, courtesy of Tony). She got all the pillows fluffed up and draped a blanket over Mark's tiny figure.

"Comfy?" Darcy asked, squatting down next to the couch. He nodded. "Good. I'm gonna make some soup, you want..tomato?" She teased him, he hated tomato soup with an undying passion. He shook his head rapidly. "Are you sure?" She eyed him and Mark nodded. "Alright, how 'bout...chicken noodle?"

"Mm hmm."

"Okay, I'll be right back baby." She ruffled his hair and went into the kitchen. Before Mark she barely knew how to cook pancakes, but apparently being a mother meant feeding a child, so after many fires, Darcy finally gave in and took a few lessons from Clint. Or just ordering something from some mildly healthy restaurant.

She started to boil some water and fetched some liquid children's Sudafed, checking twice to make sure it was age appropriate for the four year old. A scare last year were she accidentally gave him the adult dosage had her checking everything. Darcy poured a glass of water and the medicine and came back into the living room. "Open up babe." She waved the purple syrup.

Mark almost cringed when he saw the stuff. "Mommy, I don't like that stuff."

"I know kid, but it helps with your sniffles." She gently pinched his nose. "Don't wanna get worse, do we?" A sinus infection is not something they needed right now.

He muttered a 'no' and slowly tilted his head back, letting Darcy pour the medicine into his mouth. He managed to choke it down and drank greedily from the water his mother handed him, getting the taste out of his mouth.

"See? It wasn't that bad." Mark was almost glaring at her. "Okay, it looked pretty bad. I'm gonna go finish your soup." She went back into the kitchen and threw some noodles into the boiling water.

Darcy finished the soup and put the bowl on the coffee table near Mark. Darcy frowned when she saw that his was scrunched up in pain, his arms clutching his stomach. "You alright baby?" She sat down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

He shook his head no and gagged a bit. Darcy realized what was happening and quickly carried him into the bathroom. Mark managed to get most of the vomit in the toilet. The child dry heaved for a few moments before finally sitting down next to Darcy as she rubbed soothing circles in his back.

"You good?" She asked, pulling him into her lap. The brunette reached onto the counter by the sink and grabbed a wash cloth. She flushed the toilet and wiped a bit of sick off Mark's face.

He nodded and leaned against her chest. "I don't like throwing up."

"No one does. But that's your body getting all the bad germs out." She stood and picked him up again, going back to the couch. "Whatchya wanna watch?" She flipped through the list if movies she recorded for Mark. Waiting for him to point one out that he liked.

"Lilo and Stitch."

"Good choice." Darcy put on the cute little family movie and positioned her and Mark to lie back down on the couch. Mark lay front of Darcy with her wrapped around him.

As soon as the movie was over Darcy had Mark- hesitantly -take some NyQuil.

"Mommy can we read a book?" He asked her, eyes pleading as she carried him back to bed.

"Course babe." She set him down on the bed and picked out Winnie the Pooh. Mark drifted off by the second page, NyQuil finally kicking in. Darcy smiled and laid him down all the way on the mattress, pulled up the covers and kissed his hair. "Night Marcus."


	15. Two Months for Two Shots in One Second

_** Longest chapter yet guys! Whoo hoo! **_

_** Abigail (yes another fic with her, I'm sorry) is 14. In late eighth grade. **_

* * *

"Oh, how I love this game." Abby hummed sarcastically. She and Tony were just trying to get ice cream, not go to a freakin photo shoot for any douche with a camera. Shouldn't the Stark's be old news by now? Seriously, you would think most people would get used to seeing Iron Man on the street after all these years. He tried, oh lord knows that man tried to keep Abby and Peter out of the press' way. But the damn pushers prevailed with their efforts to get annoying pictures of them whenever they had anything to do. Getting a Starbucks, they were there, shopping for anything really in a public place, someone was always there with a camera ready.

All she wanted was to get a fucking Frosty from Wendy's with her dad! Was that too much to ask?

So now the two were forced to escape a Wendy's through the back exit from the kitchen (slip the bus boy a fifty and he'll do anything for ya), all to escape to invading paparazzi. Well, it's not really invading, public restaurant and all, but it was still annoying.

"Ah yes, sneaking through some dump alleyway, blocks away from the car."

"You're the one who wanted to go to _this_ Wendy's." Tony hummed along, not really understanding his daughter's peculiar liking for out of the way fast food chains. "And really, at ten pm?"

"You didn't necessarily _have_ to come with me. I could've walked here myself and avoided all of this anyway." It wasn't being snotty, more like banter. Banter was one thing that Tony and Abigail were really good at. It was surprising to most people how they had no blood relation at all.

"Again I say, at ten o'clock in the middle of the ghetto? I don't think so. There's barely any street lights."

"You would've let Peter go." She crossed her arms on her chest. "And it's not a _ghetto_, it's the poorer side of Manhattan."

"You're more important to me." He turned around to face her, a smirk on his face. "And Peter's older."

"Only by six months."

"And I don't care what this 'side of Manhattan' is called."

"Picking favorites dad?"

Tony opened his mouth to counter, cut short by the unmistakable sound of a clicking revolver behind him. His smirk faded away as he quickly turned around to shove Abby behind him. Their attacker was no more than seventeen, scared out of his mind. The weapon shook along with his hands and breath.

Tony wanted to reason with him. "Look kid-"

"Wallet, watch now." He cut Tony off, nervousness obvious in his voice.

"Okay." Tony slowly started to reach for his pockets. Normally he would've tried to find a way out of this, or just told this kid how stupid he was being. But this time was different, his daughter was only right behind him, he wouldn't risk anything, not with her.

"Now!" The teen demanded. Tony got out of his wallet and took off his watch. He held it out to the mugger. "Put it on the ground."

Tony hesitated. He wrapped an arm behind himself and Abby, pushing her towards the edge of the alley. He put the items on the dirt ground and stood back up. The attacker kept the gun trained on them, leaning down to retrieve the money.

Tony motioned for Abby to get against the side wall and stepped towards the boy a bit. "Okay, now just-"

"Stop!" The kid panicked and stood again. His finger twitching over the trigger. Tony kept moving forward, hands held up trying to get him to just walk away now. "I will shoot!"

Tony stopped. "You don't want to do anything stupid."

He took another step. The boy started to panic once again and jumped backwards.

Pulling the trigger of the small revolver.

The two bullets zipped past Tony, he flung himself around to see them plant themselves into his daughter.

"ABBY!" He screamed almost involuntarily as he ran to the wall where she was silently sliding down the side. Her breathing was already heavy and getting more labored. Tony glanced back to where the shooter was standing, the boy and his wallet and watch were gone. The billionaire turned his attention back to Abigail, who was clutching the side of her chest and abdomen as blood poured out of the bullet hole. The girl clenched her teeth and tried to breathe through the burning pain, every time her chest moved a shot of fire surged through her body again. Man, that hurt way more than Clint let on.

"Hey, Abby, it's ok, it's not even that bad." Tony lied to her through his teeth. "You're going to be ok, alright? It's ok." He took a breath before pressing his hand against both the bullet holes.

For a moment he was back in Afghanistan watching Yinsen lay on those sacks, bleeding to death. The father shook his head because _now was not the time for flashbacks_.

"Dad." She let out a small, pathetic whimper of pain from the pressure and gripped her father's wrist.

Tony came out of the fog. "I know it hurts, but I need to do it. It's ok." The genius took his phone-thankfully that idiot kid didn't ask for that-out of his pocket and had 911 on the line in seconds. "It's going to be ok."

"I swear to god if you say ok one more time I will _let_ myself bleed out." Abby hissed at him. There was already a small puddle of blood around the two. The blonde could barely keep her eyes open, it was becoming harder to breathe, having every so often to cough up blood and her vision was fading anyway.

Tony had given the information needed by the police and an ambulance was on it's way. All he had to was keep her awake, and of course her eyes just slid closed and her grip over his wrists started to go slack.

"Abby? Abby c'mon, try to stay with me right now." The billionaire was begging her, the sirens could be faintly heard. "Abigail!" The teen remained unmoving and her head even rolled to the side.

The medical crew jumped out of the now parked ambulance and dragged Tony away from her. The team got her in the truck with a very nervous genius on the side of the gurney. They strapped an oxygen mask around her head and applied white cloth to the holes. Words like 'losing too much blood,' 'stomach's filling up,' or 'lung failing' haunted the father as he waited in the truck and even outside the operating room at the hospital.

* * *

Steve and Peter got there a half an hour after them.

"Oh, Tony." Steve gasped when he saw his husband. Sitting in a hard chair out side the operating room, elbows on his knees and head held in his hands. They still had blood on them from when he tried to stop the flow. He looked up at his family with obvious despair and guilt in his eyes. Steve pulled up a chair next to his husband and whispered in his ear. "This is not your fault."

Tony sighed before clearing his throat, ignoring the captain's claim. "C'mere Pete." He motioned for his son to sit next to him. He obeyed without a word.

Tony sat there for another hour before pacing in front of the doors.

It took two security guards and Steve have him sit back down when he started yelling at the staff after two hours.

The clock was at one in the morning when the rest of the residents at the Tower filed in.

It took another twenty minutes before a surgeon finally came out.

"She's stable." A collective sigh of relief passed through the family. "The first bullet managed to squeeze between her ribs, nicked an artery and tore some of the lung tissue and a lot of muscle. The second tore through the side muscle on the abdomen and ripped open her stomach. We got her patched up, bleeding is controlled, now all you have to do is wait." The surgeon gave them a small, sympathetic smile before continuing. "We're going to move her in the ICU soon. Immediate family only I'm afraid." The series of glares sent towards the woman had her sincerely regretting telling the group so soon. "I apologize, hospital rules. We'll have Abigail ready for you in a bit."

* * *

It took days for Abby to stay conscious for a considerable amount of time. The pounding in her head got increasingly obvious each awakening, and that annoying beeping did not help at all. Her side still ached, but the burning was gone, she could tell she was positioned on her side, wound elevated. The oxygen mask she felt around her mouth and nose, however uncomfortable, helped considerably.

The first few times she could only hear the piercing sound of the heart monitor along with muffled voices. The select times her eyes decided to open were the only times the teen could get glimpses of the figures in the room. The outlines of possibly her dads, a man with an eye patch, other suits.

When the time finally came for her to stay awake long enough to remember it, the blonde's eyes refused to open, but Abby was just fine with listening to the voices.

"No, Steve because I didn't keep her behind me. I sent her to the wall, out in the open." She could tell the angry whisper was Tony. "God, I'm such a dumb ass. I should've known the kid would never be a good shot."

"Hey," Now that had to be Steve. "Don't you put this on yourself... Look at me...Tony, look at me, you did not put that gun to her side and pull the trigger yourself hmm?...Yeah, this will never be your fault, she would never blame you, and if it was you who was hit, you would never in your life blame her."

Abby smiled slightly and shifted. The movement instantly fired up the pain for a moment, causing her to squeak out a whine. "Abby?" The teen finally forced her eyelids to withdraw, seeing both her dads hovering over her, Steve with a reassuring hand on her forearm. Peter was spread out asleep on the chairs by the wall, the clock above him read seven thirty in the morning. Tony bent down to eye level and ran a hand through her hair. "Hey sweetie, it's ok, you're in the hospital remember?"

She nodded slowly, not wanting to talk.

"You wanna sleep?" Steve asked her from where he stood. Another shake of the head yes. The soldier reached for the morphine button. Already she could feel herself fading away.

"Night Ab."

* * *

Peter was the one waiting the next time Abigail came out of the wonderful drug-induced mini-coma. She was in the same position as before, some extra weight was put on her side and belly and a cannula replaced the oxygen mask, but everything was the same. Her eyes opened much more easily to see her brother on the edge of the bed.

"Hi Abby." Pete said worryingly. "You've been out for days, is anything hurting? Do you need anything?" She almost rolled her eyes. "That was, the wrong thing to say. Wasn't it?"

Abigail took a few breaths before speaking. "Yeah. Where's papa and dad?"

"Downstairs to get food. Dad hadn't eaten, in a while, so Pop dragged him off. But they'll be back soon. Everyone went home to get some sleep after seeing you, but they'll come and go."

"Ok." She let her eyes fall closed. "One question, why the hell is there a tube in my vagina?" Only Abby.

Peter cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "Um, that is the." He coughed again. "Catheter. You're gonna be here for a while."

"Great." The girl groaned. She started to lift up her arm, dropping it when just the little movement caused the fiery pain to rekindle. Abby clenched her jaw and Peter immediately stood up and gently laid her arm back to where it was on the mattress.

"Don't move too much, please." The obvious panic was clear in voice. Abby looked up to her older brother, like she really saw him this time. His eyes were red around edges.

"Have you been crying?"

Peter hesitated before answering. It took him a while to let it sink in that his sister, his pain in the ass little sister, could've died. For probably only a few hundred bucks and an old watch. That scared him to no end, and seeing her after didn't help either. Abby looked small, and fragile and almost sickly in the palest hospital gown he'd ever seen. She was hooked up to machines that were keeping her alive, she could barely breathe on her own until a few hours ago. Peter would've never described her like that before, so yeah, a few tears had been shed when he was waiting. "Maybe." Not that he'd ever admit it to her.

"Few tears for your long lost sis?" She smiled at him, he returned one.

"Tears of joy, you're a pain."

"Hey," she pouted. "Be nice, I got shot." Her eyes closed once more. Peter could tell she was drifting off again and pulled the thin sheets over her.

* * *

"Papa." Abby caught Steve's attention, voice tired and soft. The soldier turned away from the monitor he was looking at to squat down to face the teenager.

"Hey my girl. You feeling alright?"

"Yeah. Tired of laying here already."

He gave her a little sympathetic smile and patted her arm. "Sorry kid, doc wants to make sure nothing gets teared." He ran a thumb lightly over the hospital gown hiding the healing scar over her chest. "Lots of stitches in there."

"Do you know how long?"

Steve sighed and ran a hand down his face. "A month and a half, at least." He didn't tell his daughter that she'd be on the liquid only diet until the stomach tissue healed properly. He didn't tell her that it'd be almost a month before she could sit up on her own. No, he left that for doctors to say.

"Are you guys gonna stay here?"

Steve shifted the weight on his feet. "Um, Peters going to go back and finish the last week of school tomorrow, he said nothing's going on so you're okay to miss it, Dad has to work but he'll be here every second he can be. And I'm gonna stay here full time with you."

Abby smiled at him. "Professional hoverer with much experience of worrying. Eh pop?"

"Pretty much." The captain shrugged with a grin. "Amelia brought your IPod in last night when she heard you woke up, you want it?"

"Yeah." If she was going to sit there might as well have something to listen to. "Are they gonna alternate shifts or something?"  
Steve laid the device by her hands-arms were to stay where they were to avoid any unnecessary tension in the torn muscles-and frowned. "ICU only lets immediate family in for the first week or so. You'll see them in a few days."

Abby sighed before muttering an 'ok.'

* * *

_~One Week Later~_

"Well that certainly looks like a fun job." Abby joked to her nurse as she collected the urine bag on the side of the bed. She loved Elizabeth. The plump African-American nurse was soft spoken woman, gentle and kind with Abigail. The kind of person who would call everyone 'darling.' But she will take none of anyone's shit if it comes to it. One different nurse pushed down a bit too hard when reapplying Abby's bandages around her stomach and chest, and boy did she get a mouthful from Elizabeth, and was even before the wrath of Captain America and Iron Man came down on her.

"Oh honey you do not want to know what I have seen floatin around in some of the actually sick folks 'waste bags.'" Elizabeth said, shaking her head and replacing the bag.

"I'm sure I don't." Abby huffed a laugh, she'd heard the other nurse's horror stories of what comes out of the chemo patients.

Elizabeth started to head out. "Well, give me a buzz if you need anything else girly." She glanced down the hallway to see Peter walking towards her room with a to go bag. "And it looks like your brother's breaking the rules again." She winked at the blonde. Peter had been bringing her small Frosty's ever since Abby was aloud to go from being fed through an IV to liquids. Technically Wendy's wasn't on the list, but no one has stopped he siblings yet. Solids still weren't working out, she could never finish the frozen drink, but it was sort of routine for them now.

"Special delivery." The boy hummed in the doorway, holding up the bag. He pulled up a chair next to her bed and plopped down, getting out the small milk shake and the spoon. "Open." He said, holding out the spoon by her mouth.

"I can feed myself." She grumbled, taking the spoon.

"Barely, excuse me for trying to help." He took out his camera and pointed it at his sister, spoon hanging out of her mouth. "Say cheese."

"We do this every day. You don't need a picture every time." She said, slowly slurping on the ice cream. "Ah, frozen irony."

"And I will keep doing it," Peter held out the cup when she reached for another spoonful, stretching the healing muscle in her side and causing her jaw to clench. He put a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back upright. "until you can bend without almost passing out."

"Man you're worse than pops." Abby grumbled.

"Thanks, I try. Where is he anyway?"

"I don't know, I just told him to leave after the fifth time he asked if I needed anything."

"Do you need anything?" Peter smiled at her.

"Only your head on a platter." She eyed him.

"Now that was rude." He pulled out one of Abby's favorite movie from her shelf back home out of his backpack. "Now I might not let you watch this."

"Gimme."

"It was supposed to be a reward for the two week anniversary." The brunette fake pondered on whether to let his sister watch it.

"Gimme."

He set up his laptop on his lap and positioned it to face her. "Gimme died in a ship wreck." He teased.

"Just play it."

"Please was the only survivor."

"Peeete." She whined. "C'mon. Nick looks like Pop in this. It makes me laugh. Just play iiit."

"Hmmm. Okay." He smirked before pressing play on the screen

* * *

~Two Months Later~

"Welcome home miss Abigail." The British voice sounded through the family of four's home on the day the doctors finally released Abby from the hospital.

"Oh, how I missed you Jarvis." She look up lovingly at the apartment, walking to different corners of the floor. "How I missed the glass wall that I'm quite terrified will break one day. How I missed the spot on the carpet where that dog we brought in one time peed on the floor. How I missed this leather couch and the granite counter top and the fancy waterfall and everything." She sat herself down in the middle of the floor and looked up to her family. "I love our house. I love you guys."

Tony and Steve plopped down on either side of her. They couldn't help but to eventually wrap their arms around Abby and nearly crush her.

"And we love you so much Abigail."

* * *

_**I know, cheesy ending. but hey, I actually finished a 3K+ word chapter. For my level of laziness, that's pretty awesome. **_

_** I actually just made an educated guess on the time span it takes for wounds like that to heal, if it was too long, than let's just say Abby's got some paranoid doctors. If it's too short, than she's a remarkable healer. **_

_** If you might have noticed, the actual part leading up to the shooting was written around 3 AM when I was completely set on writing this, than when it came down to the whole stand off part my creative side completely shut down, so I apologize. **_

_** I'm sorry if I offended anyone with the chemo part, I just have a friend of friend who's going through it, and he literally pukes green slime. **_

_** OK, so long authors note, but review if you like it!**_


	16. I Write Sad Things When I See Sad Movies

I make awful things happen to good people...

* * *

Clint had thought it over a thousand times.

He still was pissed at Fury. Almost sixty years old that man is and he's still kicking the same amount of ass as when he first joined SHIELD. It's hard to even remember a time when Director Fury wasn't even Director Fury yet. But apparently, as old as he was, and as much as he knew Clint, Nick still took him off active field duty. He wouldn't just let his best agent go completely, no, just assigned him head of training.

And boy did he get a mouthful from the archer, even if it was for a good reason.

Clint still hadn't told anyone the real reason why he was taken off. Just mumbled something about getting old, slowing down. He would never tell his family that his brain lit up like a Christmas tree on the annual cancer scan. Some big ass terminal tumor decided that he looked good enough to suck the life out of. SHIELD's medical staff said he might get around eight months, possibly a year and a half with treatment.

But everyone knew Clint will refuse to live like that, being poked and prodded and always on some doctors chart. Might as well enjoy eight months he's got left.

Eight months.

At least he'll barely make it Phil's twenty first birthday. That would be nice. Clint got him to twenty one. That's more than he was actually hoping for, the man honestly thought that he wouldn't be able to get him anywhere, he couldn't help through high school, the social or the academic parts. Clint got his GED when he was eighteen, through SHIELD. Phillip never made it to that stage, never got that kid was hesitant about being recruited, Clint didn't blame him, he gave him the option of doing whatever he really wanted to, but the kid turned it down and joined SHIELD.

Clint never blamed Phil for never finishing school, the only reason that he didn't graduate was because he caused nearly seventeen fights, the last one he nearly killed the kid, all because they threw Mark in the swimming pool, held his head under. That was quite a PTSD episode. Oh, the beat down Phillip gave all five of those boys who were involved got him expelled his senior year. Clint was still deciding on whether to be angry or immensely proud of him.

He never cared that his son liked boys, never expected he would, with the whole 'living with the two gayest men in the planet' anyway. Man, was Phillip nervous that one night when Clint came home from Brazil and he wanted to tell him, poor kid was almost shaking. The archer laughed at the fact that he thought it was gonna be his son telling him that he got someone pregnant. He still felt a bit bad about having no idea. In his defense Tony did point out that Phil was 'the straightest gay kid ever.'

God damn, he won't get to see Amelia graduate from California State. She'd be done with freshman year next month, yeah, but that's no graduation. Clint had always been proud of her, taking a normal route. She said she's gonna move in with Abby when she graduates this year from the California University for the Arts.

Sometimes Clint is terrified that his girl is two thousand miles away from him. That anything could happen to her. He still worries about the Red Room, even if she's way too old for their program.

He glanced towards his desk on the side of his bedroom, knowing his little, black, leather bound book with everything he could get on Viktor Dubnocsky and Vladimir Erikson, the two men who ran-and if rumors are true still run-the Red Room was still in that bottom desk drawer.

He never told anyone that he had always planned on hunting down every single man that ever had a part in hurting Natasha, on controlling her every day until the day she died, and burning them alive. Those were the men who ripped her from her childhood, forced her to kill children when she was still one herself, just to survive. Those were the men who nearly made her give up her own babies, then herself, so they wouldn't kill the only person she actually ever let herself love. Yes, Clint was still hunting them, even after twelve years, he has almost everything on the Red Room but nothing on the leaders. It took up his life. And no one knows. He never wanted anyone to think that they were in that mess too.

He prays to god that Phillip or Amelia never find it.

He may burn it in his last days. If Clint's never going to let off the leash enough to finish this job.

The archer has kept so many secrets from these people who have only helped him. He wonders if they'll be angry when it gets really bad, and he'll finally just have to spit it out cause he won't be able to walk near the end. Tony will definitely be the first to figure it out. That'll be annoying.

"Hey Dad?" Phillip appeared in the doorway. "Are you alright? You've been in here for hours."

"Yeah." He said, no trace of the worry or anger he was just feeling. "Everything's fine."

* * *

Dammit me.. stop being evil to Clint.

Welp, two chapters in two days, that's good right?... No, they're depressing?... OK then...

It's all Perks of Being a Wallflower's fault. It makes me all emotional and I sob for an hour then write sad things.

Don't worry, I'll continue this eventually and it will be bad.

I love reviews!


	17. The Fighter

I wanted some angst.

Phil is 16.

* * *

Phillip attempted to quietly inch through the kitchen to the fridge. The left side of his face throbbed as he looked through a slightly swelling eye for the frozen peas. He didn't know why they had any, it's not like Amelia or Clint was eating them. Phil found the bag and gently placed it over his eye as he made his way back to the couch and pulled the hood up on his sweatshirt.

Phillip laid back on the cushions, trying to ease the pounding in his head. The red head shoved his hand in his pocket, feeling the crumpled paper bills from tonight. Almost eight hundred fifty bucks. A small smile graced his lips when he thought of the guy who bet him five hundred that he couldn't last ten minutes in the ring with him. It was a stretch, the other guy was at least a foot and a half taller than Phil, with maybe a hundred pounds on him and landed a few good hits on the teen, but Phillip lasted. Got in a few punches and kicks himself, and had five hundred dollars in cash in his hand ten minutes later.

Yes, underground fighting and gambling was usually frowned upon, but damn did it pay good if you could do it. And could Phil do it. It was hard to find someone who would even put him in the ring at first. A five foot six teenager in a warehouse with little to no money and absolutely no experience in this game made Phillip vastly underestimated. He had to admit it was quite hilarious when the first guy they put him in the ring with only took Phillip seconds to pin him and have the schmuck tap out.

'Tiny cracker came outta no where and just beat the fuck outta my main matches.' That's what Marvi said when he first saw Phil fight the first night. Marvi was like a ringmaster, he organized the matches, held the bets, pick fight nights, made sure the cops weren't on anyone's tail, he ran the whole show. And he liked Phillip, kid only lost about five matches in the seven months he'd been doing this whole thing, made Marvi a lot of money.

Phillip started a few weeks after they Mark got back from Ross. Only wanted a little cash to get him something to cheer him up. Boy was the human embodiment of depression, stuck in a bed all day, Phil just wanted something to entertain his brother. He got cocky, lost a match, owed almost 3K, had to keep fighting for money to get out of it. After that he just didn't really stop.

So now the teen was sitting alone in the living room at four in the morning with a bag if frozen peas over his days and with eight hundred bucks in his pocket. He knew Clint would kill him if he ever found out. But that doesn't necessarily mean Phil would stop going to that warehouse every time Clint was out of the house.

* * *

_~One Week Later~_

"C'mon lil Rabbit!" Marvi shouted from the side of the ring as Phillip landed another hit. The name never flattered the teenager, but he supposed it made sense, he was the smallest white guys who frequents the warehouse. And at least it wasn't the worst thing he's ever been called here. He smirked at the man rooting for him, for no purpose except that he had a bet on him, and gave a little eye roll. The other guy in the ring was a no body, he was big, but obviously he had never been here before, bet Phil two hundred he couldn't pin him. The ware house was not the only place in the city for matches, this was the one farthest away from the Tower, not too many people here but still big enough to form a large crowd, chants on who they thought would win were deafening. The makeshift bell rang at the side of the ring. The ring was once a professional boxing ring, the ropes now gone, replaced by wooden bars. it wasn't even lifted off the ground, just a dirt floor stained with blood.

Phil danced around the man, a smirk still on his face as they circled around each other. The challenger started towards Phillip, swinging his right fist at his head. Phil quickly ducked and spun around to face the man's back. The teen planted a boot to the back of his knee, he gave out and Phil only had to place his elbows to the guy's temple before it was lights out for a few seconds. The man reeled and tried to stand up again, only to stumble and have Phil grab his hair, land a hit on the side of his face and he was down again.

The teenager leaned back on the wooden rails, an amused grin on his face as he watched the other man get to his feet again. He could've put him down right then and there, get this whole match over with, but these people who come here. To bet, to fight, to recruit. They want a show, a five second fight own going to cut it, if they get bored, they don't bet, they don't bet, there's no business and no show.

The man got to his feet again, tried to get Phil with a right cross, he grabbed the incoming arm and twisted, the guy letting out a small cry. His left fist came up, Phil ducked and let go of the other arm. Before he could spin out if the way, the man quickly grabbed his hair and planted a fist to Phillip's face. A chorus of 'ohs' came from the crowd. Two more hits had the kid reeling, but he stretched out his leg to kick the guy off his feet. The teen grabbed the arm holding his hair, twisted again and shoved its owner to the ground after flipping him on his back. Phil placed his knees and the man's shoulder blades, the audience cheered. He spit out a glob of blood before speaking arrogantly in the loser's ear. "Pinned."

The boy collected his money and sat on the fence. His phone buzzed in his pocket. 'New Text Message' blinked across the screen.

From Clint.

_Get home. Now._

"Well shit." He let out under his breath. He pulled on his hoodie and tried to squeeze through the crowd. Only to get caught by Marvi when he placed a dark skinned hand on his shoulder.

"Where you think you're goin?" He asked over the roaring crowd, two other guys were already in the ring.

"I'm done for the night." Phillip shouted back.

"Listen listen, I got two other fights lined up but after that the place is open for free for alls. C'mon, I'll let you pick anyone you want, whatever dude you see in this crowd, five hundred a match. Half for me, half for you."

Phil had to roll his eyes. Money money money. That was all Marvi. "I'm done for the night." His tone was harsher as he shoved off Marvi's hand from his shoulder. The man placed his hands up in surrender.

"Alright, ok, don't get all violent."

With one more glare, Phillip pulled up his hood and stalked out of the warehouse. He eventually got himself to the subway and reached the Tower.

He attempted to pull his hood over more to cover his fading bruised eye from last week and the formed bruises from tonight. He kept his sore hands in his pockets, knowing they would be dark already from tonight. Phillip tried to slip through the dim kitchen, the only light from the digital clock on the microwave.

"So," Clint's voice sounded from the kitchen table. Phil stopped where he was, the red head didn't even have to look at his father, he heard the disapproval lying under the calmness in his voice. "You're out late."

"Uh, yeah." Phil tried to act normally. Like as if he wasn't on the verge of panicking.

"Where've you been?"

The boy tried to change the subject. "Thought you wouldn't be back till Sunday?"

"Where have you been, Phillip." It wasn't a question anymore.

"Just, out. You know? Been driving around."

"You didn't take your car."

"I've been walking." He rephrased the lie. While it might have worked on anyone else's parent, Clint was almost always able to see right through the teen's excuses.

"Fine." This time he decided to wait it out, his tone lost the hardness. "Just go to bed soon, it's late. School starts again next week."

"Mm hmm." He started to shuffle out of the kitchen to his room before calling out a 'Night.'

A single thought raced through the father's head as Phil exited the room.

_Now what do I do with you?_

* * *

~Three Weeks Later~

"Rabbit?" Marvi lightly slapped his fighter's face. The kid was totally out. Took up a fight with one the big guys. Some dude calling himself The Red Hood or something. Marvi's seen him before when he was dealing in some other big city a few years ago. Guy was good, Phil thought he would last the bet for ten minutes in the ring with Red. The kid didn't even last five before he was totally unconscious, lost a bet for ten thousand. For as good as Phillip was, he never earned that sort of money, nor could he pay it off now. Marvi knows that.

"C'mon, you little fucker. Dude's pissed at you." Marvi grabbed a bottle of water, splashed the whole bottle at Phil. The teen blinked blearily and his face scrunched up in pain when the after affects of the beating came to him. "Yeah, yeah. I bet you already sore."

"Who won?"

"Not you. You're lucky I got that dude in for another round with some other idiot. Told him you'd pay him when you woke up. Now get outta here man, before he kills you." He pulled Phillip up to standing position, holding out his hoodie that he always wore to the warehouse.

The kid took that as a silent 'I got your back for now' and quickly made his way out. The whole way home he was almost shaking, throwing glades over his shoulder, trying to keep his bruised face covered. He refused to make eye contact with anyone on the subway car.

Ten grand.

Dammit, how stupid did he have to be to take that bet? The Soldier wasn't the biggest he'd ever seen, Phillip though the money was a bluff, some sorta poker face deal. The red head never expected this guy to be a fucking Bruce Lee/Chuck Norris/Batman love child. It took him minutes to catch the teen, then it was no mercy. Hit and after hit after hit, kick after kick, Red wouldn't give him a moment to breathe. There was no show in this guy, only anger in the dark brown eyes filled with sweat dripping from the mop of brown hair. Now Phillip owed this ass money he could never get on his own.

He was totally and utterly screwed.

And this Red Hood did not seem like a person who would wait for Phil to earn the money.

* * *

He almost made it home.

Phil could see the lit up A from the Tower (Tony decided to just leave it like that after the New York battle), only about ten blocks away. There was no real discreet route from there on, he just prayed that no one followed him from the warehouse.

Apparently no one up there was listening.

He just rounded the corner into an ally when he stopped suddenly. The Red Hood guy was standing casually at the mouth, twirling a metal pipe in his hand. Damn Marvi must have squealed, man's got a big mouth but there's no way in hell he'd ever beat anybody in a fight. To his credit, Phillip did run faster than anyone else. Usually. This time he only made it three blocks before Red caught up to him. He was trying to climb a fire escape, Red caught his leg at the last second and yanked him to his hands and knees.

"Where's my cash kid?" Trepidation rose rapidly through Phil's rather small frame. Red just stood over him, rough deep voice doubling the fear that was already in the teenager because _dammit he didn't have his pistol_.

He coughed a few times, blood already dripping down his face again from before. "I'll get it to you." He pretended not to be surprised when he heard his shot his voice sounded.

"Not the right answer." The man's voice held no pity. He picked up Phil by the neck and pinned him against the wall of the ally. He shoes scraped the brick but didn't touch the ground.

"I'll pay you back." He chocked out. The man threw him to the ground, eyes still cold.

The teen didn't see one ounce of sorry in his expression as he lifted the pipe.

* * *

Phillip limped into the apartment hours after. His whole body throbbed with pain. All of his ribs hurt, maybe even broken one. His left eye was swelled up again like last month, and already he felt the bruises get darker. The teen already vomited in the ally, along with some blood. He still spit out a glob every few minutes, once with chips of tooth mixed in. If he was lucky his nose might not be broken, definitely his hip was cracked, the kid felt it when he walked.

He eventually got to the main bathroom. The light even on the dimmest setting still had his concussed head throbbing. There were angry bruises ringing his neck, almost his whole face, complete with blood dripping down. He didn't even want to look at his abdomen or back or chest or anything else. Frozen peas weren't gonna do much this time.

He spit up another spray of blood into the sink. Phil was surprised Red didn't just kill him right in that alleyway. He was so thankful that the fighter didn't know where he lived. The red head stumbled back to the kitchen, found some actual ice, and plopped down on the living room couch. It wasn't long before he passed out again.

* * *

~Four Days Later~

By some miracle Amelia didn't wake up to see Phillip knocked out on the couch looking like he was dead. There was the problem of school going on again, Phil was way too sore to actually drive there anymore, so the bus was now the way. It had only taken days for the rumor about his homosexuality to spread, and man, were kids cruel. It had taken mere hours for Bobby to drop him ("Listen, I really like you, but I can't really have anyone else knowing about...all this."), apparently the jock had no connection to Phil at all, according to his story.

He stopped blaming Abby, she had never meant to make his life a real Hell on Earth. Today was exactly the same, no one aware of his sore body as they slammed him against the walls 'on accident'. They didn't know, nor care what Phillip was able to do, he hadn't snapped at anyone yet. He hadn't really eaten anything in days, the things he had forced down his tired throat just came up again a few hours later.

The affects of that finally kicking in while Phillip tried to make his way down the hallway. Of course he'd been starving all day, but now his head was swimming. The teen faintly felt his body lean against the lockers, everything spinning, he tried to take few more steps. The books falling out of his hands went unnoticed, along with the small crowd watching him. Phillip didn't hear the mean whispers of "what the hell is wrong with him now?" "Maybe it's his AIDS." or "Damn faggot's gonna get us all infected.", he only felt himself collapse to the floor before everything going to black.

* * *

The nurse, Jennifer Kenish, who was currently on duty in Sebastian's High School had seen her fair share of bruises, bumps, cuts, sniffles, fights, you name it. She's treated it. Called home, the whole deal. But this kid, Phillip Barton, it seemed like he was a regular. Almost every month he'd come in, sick with _something,_ god knows what each time. Marie would call home, the single father would never answer, so she settled with one the uncles this kid had. She liked Phillip, bit of a trouble maker with other teachers, but at least he was polite to her.

But this time, when she got a buzz from the main office that he was coming in, she didn't expect two other boys dragging the unconscious redhead in. Jen sighed and gestured to the couch. "Just put him there, I'll look over him." The boys looked at each other, shrugged and threw Phil down unceremoniously into the couch. "Gently, would be nice." Jennifer scolded and stood from her desk.

"So," She started out, making the boys stop from where they were trying to exit. "What happened with this?"

"I don't know," One of the boys started. "He just, fell or something."

"Did he fall, or did he faint?" Jen asked seriously, quickly checking Phil's pulse.

"Uh, he fell." The same boy stated.

The other boy hit his arm. "No, idiot, he fainted." He turned to the nurse. "He like, dropped all of his stuff, then just fell. Like didn't even try to stop himself."

"Okay, thank you. Leave now." Jen shooed them out. She moved her hand up to the redhead's neck, pausing when she felt the slippery feeling of cover-up. She frowned and tried to wipe the makeup off with an alcohol pad.

"Oh my god." Jennifer exclaimed.

All around the kid's neck there were angry bruises. She started cleaning the rest of his face. The sight could be considered horrifying, for her to see it on someone so young. Phillip's whole back seemed swollen from the deep purple and black covering it. Some places the skin was split open, along with the futile effort to stitch oneself up. The same went for his abdomen and his legs.

The nurse sat back and sighed heavily. "Oh, Phillip, who has been doing this to you?" She asked herself. Technically she wasn't legally aloud to do anything to this kid, unless it was a 'qualified state of real emergency'. Jen recalled nothing about consulting Mr. Bates about any cases of abuse in a child, though.

* * *

Phillip woke up in the nurse's office, September rain tapping on the window. The nurse was already on the phone with his Dad in the other room.

"Mr. Barton he just passed out in hallway...Dehydration maybe...Apparently he seemed disoriented all day...Have you been home lately with your son? I saw bruises all over him...Ok, don't shout at me..."

Phillip didn't hear the rest of the conversation on the account of that he was climbing out the window. He grabbed the bottle of water and little bag of pretzels with him, steadily chewing them as he walked back home.

* * *

Clint found him on the roof of an old abandoned apartment complex.

The archer wasn't an idiot. At least, not as big as one his son obviously thought him to be. He noticed the cover up (he regretted the day when he taught his children how to cover recognizable marks) hiding the bruises, the scraped hands. It didn't take the marksman long to find a shoebox filled with cash behind Phillip's dresser. No, Clint didn't know why he would do it, the kid knows it's not a good thing to get in to. Especially if you screw up. And damn did this kid screw up by the looks of it.

"Do you wanna tell me why I get a call as soon as I get back that my son has passed out in the middle of the hallway because of starvation or dehydration?" The father asked, not as calmly as he thought he was. Phil was lying on the edge of the roof, arms over his eyes and legs crossed, not minding the pouring down rain at all.

"No."

"No? Well, hate to break it to you, but we're having this conversation anyway. I have held off on this for too damn long Phil, now what is going on with you?"

"Nothing is going on." He struggled to keep his voice even.

"Obviously something is going on, or I wouldn't be up here talking with you while faculty members have it in their heads that I'm hurting you!"

"I'm sorry then." A crack.

"Sorry doesn't cut it anymore." He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "Phil...they would take you away from me, in a heartbeat. If the CPS thinks of half a reason, you and Amy would be gone! I can't lose you too."

"I know! Okay?" He uncrossed his arms and sat up to face Clint, eyes burning. "I know, but sorry is all I can really give you right now. I'm sorry I'm such an idiot and now owe some guy, who I don't even know his real name, ten thousand dollars! I'm sorry that that I kept betting. I'm sorry that I can't control people's thoughts of you. I'm sorry you have to have, this dumb ass faggot for a son who barely read! I'm sorry I'm ruining your life! I'm sorry I let Amy get hurt and I'M SORRY I KILLED MOM!"

Silence hung for a few moments between the two. Phil had let a few drops a saltwater fall in his rant, everything coming out in the open.

"I was the one who begged for pizza." He continued quietly. "She kept telling me no, but I kept pushing her. She went out to get me some but didn't make it back." He sniffed and wiped his eyes, not looking at Clint. "And I heard Amelia crying that night. With Ribner. She was six, I thought it was a nightmare or something. I just fell back asleep and let him hurt her."

Clint didn't say anything for a minute. He simply sat down on the ledge next to him, and rather unexpectedly wrapped his arms tightly around his son. "Don't." He sighed quietly. "Don't ever think that way Phil. None of that, will _ever_ be your fault."

"I could have-"

"You were eight years old. It was inevitable." _More than you know._ "You had nothing to do with whatever happened." He let go of Phil, pulling back to face him, tone lighter, less serious. "You hear me? Nothing's on you."

Phillip sighed, nodding. He knows the guilt will never entirely go away, but it helps to hear that. "I still owe that guy."

"I got it covered." The teenager shot him a surprised look. "What? You think I'm doing all this shit for Fury for free? It's just this time, and you're not going back into that ring though."

"I don't know who he is."

"I'll find him." Clint told him confidently. "Don't worry about it. Just, eat something. Alright? I can take you out of school for a few days. Let things, die down"

Phil leaned back, looking out to the city. It was still raining, lightly now, but the two men almost didn't notice it anymore. "Fine. And, I'll get it down. Somehow."

"Good." Clint gave him a small smile and clapped his back before standing. "Don't put so much pressure in yourself Phil. And tell someone when you need help you're not a bother or whatever. But When you get home, You'll get your punishment too." The blonde smirked.

Phillip double backed. "What?" He exclaimed. "Shouldn't almost getting killed he punishment enough?"

"Oh c'mon," Clint shrugged. "You disobeyed me, illegally putting yourself in danger, and everyone else. So, you're in so much trouble." The archer let out a laugh like a child at Phillip's expression of complete shock and confusion at the thought of ever getting a punishment from Clint that wasn't training. "Get home, you got an hour."

Phil scoffed and ran a hand down his face. "Fine." He huffed.

* * *

"Ow!" Phil yelped when Clint started cleaning another gash in his side.

"Yeah, that is the feeling of infected stitches." Clint didn't try to hide his smirk and scrubbed slightly harder at the wound. "You are terrible at this."

"Couldn't I have Bruce do this?" The redhead gritted his teeth together.

"Nope." Clint answered simply. "Bruce is too gentle with you guys."

"Can I report this as abuse then?"

"No, to that either." Clint sighed. "We'll probably get enough of that later."

"The school never does anything for 'home problems'." Phil scoffed. "It's bad for it's image, or something."

"Doesn't matter," Clint rolled his eyes and stood up, tossing Phil a bandage roll. "You know Fury'll kill me if your name gets down in a public record."

"Yeah, yeah. Secrets of secrets of secrets."

"Exactly, you do not exist in the world of paper work and traceable records." Clint ruffled a hand through Phil's hair. "Now, keep the stitches clean. Eat something."

"I know," Phillip grumbled

"And take a bath, you stink."

* * *

So, I can never do good endings, so this happened. And I just wanted to add the smidge at the end.

*Heap of unfinished Tumor part 2 staring angrily at me* I'll finish it. Eventually. This chapter was necessary, it'll build character.

And yes, I did screw the comics over and had The Winter Soldier come in. It's probably out of character anyway..

I Love reviews!


	18. The End For One

Here it is...

* * *

Phillip looked up from the agent he currently had on his knees in a headlock when he heard the commotion on the other side of the training room. He threw the agent on the mat, and did the 'good match' bumping of the fist. Phillip grabbed a towel from the bench and dried off some of the sweat before heading over to the mess of people.

More agents, higher levels than Phil is, push their way through the newbies trying to get glance of whatever's going on. Phillip knows that this isn't a fight, people would be cheering and yelling for whoever they were rooting for until a trainer broke them up, but no, everyone's dead silent. A medic team shows up and and shoves everyone aside.

And all who couldn't see before gets a clear view of Clint Barton, Hawkeye, passed out in the middle of the training room floor. The whole place erupts with questions.

"Did you see what happened to him?"

"Did he get shot?"

"Isn't that Barton?"

"Is the shooter still here?"

"Nah man, we'd all be dead if someone got the jump on the hawk."

"I think he's having a stroke."

"He did look all disoriented."

"Where's his kid, isn't he on base?"

"Why's he having a stroke?"

"Is he already dead?"

Phillip heard none of this. Only the roaring in his ears and sound of his heart and pushed through the other agents to get to his father. He came out of his trance when eventually Fury entered the room and had to hold the boy back from interrupting the medics. They had Clint on a gurney and out of the training room soon after Fury's arrival.

"Look. They'll do everything they can." Was the only words of comfort Nick would offer him.

* * *

An occipital stroke. Left side of the brain. Caused by a blockage of blood flow from his tumor.

His tumor.

What tumor? Phillip didn't have any knowledge of the tumor killing his father. That was quite the conversation between Fury and him.

"What the hell do you mean 'it was caused by a tumor'?" Phillip asked the older man when he was explaining to him what happened. "He never told me any of this."

"I didn't expect him to." Fury said, almost stoically. "Didn't want your pity, didn't want anyone to worry. And let me ask you something Barton, did you honestly expect him too?"

Phillip didn't answer him. Of course Clint would never tell them. He probably couldn't even admit to himself that 'damn, something other than a bullet could kill me'. The red head sat down in those hard plastic chairs that he knew all too well. "Do you know, what will happen to him now?"

Fury sighed and interlocked his fingers. Not wanting to say this now and definitely not wanting to repeat it when the other members of the Avengers get down to the base. "Blindness. Maybe permanent. Numbness, lets just say he won't be too good on his feet... Phillip." The kid looked up at him. "He won't be able to walk, or see again."

* * *

Clint sat out on his balcony. The crisp November air not even bothering him anymore. No, not much bothered the old assassin, not after he was stripped of everything he knew. He's lost all feeling in his feet and some in his legs, his fingers have been numb, useable but numb, ever since he woke up in SHIELD's medical wing only four weeks ago. He feels for the glass that he can no longer look for, some protein vitamin shit. Clint can't even drink a damn pop without throwing up twenty minutes later.

He forced Amelia to go back to school. He's not letting himself slow her down. At least Phillip was able to get Clint out of the base, back home. Huh, he thought thought he'd be calling this place his home. "We're not rich, Tony's rich. We are just permanent guests." He would always tell Phillip and Amelia that. No, they could not spend ridiculous amounts of money just because Tony was offering it, it was almost offending, but Clint knew he just loved to spoil kids.

Phillip took a break from SHIELD. Kid was still a bit angry at Clint for not mentioning it once, at all, but he wasn't about to leave his father alone in that damn apartment. Clint hated that his son was taking care of him, it seemed like (oh god the archer was actually getting sentimental) just yesterday he was that little baby he was singing American Pie to. Clint might have just been a little glad he didn't have to see his son see himself so miserable.

He hated the thought of leaving behind everyone though. All they had done for him. Clint would love thank Abigail if he saw her again. She was the one who was actually there for Amelia. Like an older sister to her, to all of them mostly. And Mark, that kid stood by Phil through all the shit. The two boys were inseparable growing up. Fred and George, Fili and Kili, Sherlock and John. Hopefully it won't end for them like it did for their comparisons. It's not like Peter never did anything. He was like the supervisor for all the trouble the kids got in to. He was even Spider-Man. Clint actually thought it was pretty cool.

Tony and Steve and Bruce and Darcy were the ones he really needed to just say thank you too. They helped not only his children but himself as well. Through Natasha, and Ribner and everything.

He _hated_ leaving them.

And he hated that he was selfish enough to think that staying here was worse.

* * *

Clint died a few days later on November 17. It was peacefully, in his sleep. Like he deserved. The archer was wrong his prediction to see Phillip's twenty first.

Phillip stood in front of only about ten people at Clint's funeral. He was asked to speak, which he wanted to, but as of right now, when he was standing in front of the few people who actually knew him well enough to come here, he totally chocked.

Steve quietly stood from his seat in the small crowd and quickly made his way next to his nephew. The captain slung his arm around the boy's shoulder before whispering in his ear. "Take a breath." Phil nodded, blinking his eyes and looked to the ground. Steve stayed where he was and took the slips of paper from the stand and spoke Phillip's words to the crowd in front of the casket.

"My father, was one of, if not the, greatest men I have ever known. He was there for me, and Amelia, through everything life could throw at us. I knew when my mother died, all he wanted to do was isolate himself. But he put everything aside and made sure that we were fine and healthy before he did anything.

"My father was always a bit strict with me and my sister growing up, and it took me almost too long to figure out why. He was gone a lot, and I guess he needed some reassurance that we wouldn't do something stupid when he was gone. Trust me, there were times when I could tell that he was just so done with all of the shit that I threw at him, but he never left, and he almost never lost his temper. I hate to think how stupid I was not to realizing everything that my father did for me.

"The man put everything he had into getting me and Amelia the life that he never had. I knew he hated the fact that he couldn't control everything that happened to us. And god knows the man tried to change that with all the stubbornness that he had. That stubbornness saved his life more times than it probably should have. I guess these past few months, it just got tired of trying.

"It may be a good thing that the old man finally gave it all up. I can only guess what was goof through his mind when the scan came on the screen and he saw the tumor on his brain. He hated that Fury put him on early retirement, and I know he hated how he only got progressively worse and he couldn't do anything about it. And I can only hope that me and Amelia being there in his last days, can be as half of comforting as he was to us.

"I think he didn't exactly want to leave yet, but I know that he was miserable here. And I hope, I /hope/, that wherever he is now, he no longer has to be in pain. I don't want to remember my father like he was when he was sick because that wasn't him. He was amazing and brave and deadly and stubborn. That was Hawkeye. But Clint, he was everything a dad should be. He gave us more patience, and love and just anything more than we deserved.

"Now it would take a lifetime to explain him to anyone, and I think by now I've talked enough. And I'm probably a complete wreck. Its sort of ironic because one the last things he said to me was "Don't you freakin cry at my funeral." Sorry Dad. But, for right now, all I can say now is that Clinton Francis Barton was, and will forever be, the greatest man that anyone could ever hope for as a dad. Thank you."

Steve finished the eulogy. A few somber, soft claps were heard as the two men made their way back their seats. Amelia took her brother's hand in her lap but said nothing, biting back tears. The rest of the ceremony was quiet. Nothing like the archer would've wanted. No, Clint would love to see it with Bon Jovi blasting in the background, the place lined with purple and hawks on his head stone.

Everyone eventually filed out. Phillip was left standing by the head stone, it started to snow lightly, he thought it was fitting. He also thought it was a dumb ass idea to him a funeral outside in November. Phil had to smile though, Clint had always loved snow, so did Natasha. He remembered when he was little they would sit out on the balcony when it first snowed, sometimes they'd pull him out there, Clint would sit him on the railing, and Natasha would keep telling him that he'd drop her son fifty floors off the edge.

Amy came up behind him, eyes red and still burning. "Your speech was nice." She said quietly, shifted her weight from foot to foot. "Even if it was part bullshit."

Phil raised an eyebrow at her. "And why do think that?"

"He was sort of ass." She stated as matter of factly. "Like yeah, he'd bail us out of jail if we happened to be there or help in some life threatening situation, but seriously, he was a total dick. There were days after mom died where Aunt Darcy would come over and make sure we'd ate. Other times he just totally dropped us off at either of their floors and drown himself in mourning. Bullshit he didn't isolate himself from us."

"It's a eulogy Amy you lie to try make other people feel better." The older brother shoved his hands in his suit pocket. He let her continue though, he knew it was all anger, even if it was true.

"And comforting my ass. A week after Ribner I kept having nightmares, you know he said when I tried telling him? He'd just say 'it's alright Amy, he can't hurt you anymore, just to sleep babe.' I know it's all he could really do but it wasn't very convincing to a six year old. Dammit I went to sleep in your bed after a while. You remember that?" She turned her face to him, Phil nodded and let her retell it anyway. "I went over to your room crying and I kept begging you to just slide over a little bit. You eventually let me up there and it ended up with me kicking you all the way off, but you didn't say anything about it."

Phil smiled at her. "You sound a lot like Mom. You see that?" She bit her lip and shook her head. The brother wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Like the way you always bite your lip when you're mad. Or how you snap back in Russian sometimes. That little eyebrow thing when someone's being stupid." He pushed up his eyebrow with his pinky and tried to mimic the expression. Amelia crossed her arms and tried not to laugh. "Or how you do that when you don't _want_ to think something's funny. You don't remember, but you're a lot like her."

"You're such a girl." Amelia smiled at the points anyway. She leaned into Phillip's side. "But you're like him too. With the whole, 'I see from a distance thing.' And that you _love_ to piss off Fury. And fight. And be an ass."

"Thanks." He scoffed as she continued.

"_But_," The blonde pressed. "You are really brave and shit."

Phillip had to let out a laugh at that one. That was the Abby rubbing off on her. She'd been spending way too much time with her, splitting a small house over in California.

It made the red head a little sad to think that Amelia and everyone else would be gone by tomorrow, the floor back home would be left empty. Pete would go back to his fancy science university, keep being Spider-Man. Mark would be back training to be a physical therapist. Abby would be some film-artist person, Amelia would still be undecided. And Phil would still be SHIELD. It was almost like, this would the actual last time Phil would get to see them. Until something worse happens.

"You do something great Amelia. Alright? I want you to go back to school. Find someone. Someone who makes you feel safe again." Phil squeezed her.

Amy squeezed right on back. "You too Phil. And just, don't die. Not for a while?"

He huffed a laugh. "I'll try."

"And see David again?"

He gave the blonde a small, sad smile. "Maybe."

They stood for a while longer in a comfortable silence, after a while Amelia eventually started to head back home. A sleeveless dress in November snow wasn't her best idea. Phillip stayed, not thinking about anything, just watched the snow slowly cover the lid of the coffin.

"You know," He started to speak. Not really to Clint, he didnt exactly think he could hear him, it was jus that he had been talking to his father for 20.999 years. The last time was only hours before he officially turned twenty one. "She was right. About all the things you did. You weren't the best, but I know you tried. I also know that you loved Mom more than anything, but you still tried for us. And, I guess I just want to say thanks old man. For trying."

Unbeknownst to the son, a man, a blonde, standing and happy and full sight, was watching him. He had already said his farewells to Amelia, silently and unheard, but meaningful. He would stand there until Phillip would place a single hand on the coffin as a last goodbye, and be on his way. This man, unseen by the rest of the world, would whisper a soft 'you're welcome Phil'.

Only after then will two other people come up behind him, also unseen and unheard. A woman with fiery red hair, free as a spider and happy than she ever thought she would be years ago. Along with another man in a suit that had no blood stain around his heart. They'd say nothing to each other until Phillip was out of sight.

Then simply walk away.


	19. Mara and the Frost Giant

_**This was originally to be two chapters...but I meshed them together because they're both short anyway...**_

_**First one Mark is eight, then in the second one he is sixteen from the time he just got back from Ross (February) to June.**_

* * *

To say Markus was not expecting waking up to a little, wet, black nose sniffing all over his face would be exactly right. The little, wet, black nose had a mouth and a tongue too, and that little, wet, pink tongue just loved to lick said face.

"Alright alright, enough from you." He pushed the little dog away from his face towards the edge of the bed, and pulled himself into a sitting position. No one else was in his room, which was not uncommon, but a random black puppy on his bed was.

The puppy started to whine at him, not appreciating being pushed away. "What? What do you want?" Mark asked if, no reason in particular. It started wag its little tail, crawling over the covers towards him again, bounding up to his lap and his paws on Mark's chest. It was cute. Fluffy black fur with one little white paw. The pup licked his face once more, tail still wiggling. "Where'd you come from?"

"A box on the corner of the street." Bruce's voice suddenly sounded from the doorway. "She was your Mom's idea." He gave him a small smile and went to sit . "Happy Guesstimate Birthday."

This was a thing the Bruce did. When they first found Markus, doctors guessed he might be only one week old. And every year, on December seventeenth, Bruce would get him a small thing with a 'happy guesstimate birthday' note attached. A few nights ago Darcy found a box with a 'free puppies' sign on it. Of course she originally planned to take all of them, which ended up with Bruce explaining that Newfoundland pups grow up to be a standing height of about six feet and he really didn't want five of those in the house. So they settled with the smallest of the littler, dropping the rest off at a shelter.

"What do you want to name her?"

The eight year old pondered for a minute. "Mara."

"You sound pretty confident."

"She_ looks_ like a Mara." Bruce left it at that. The sat in silence for a few moments before Mark smirked up at his father. "You and Mom sure find the best stuff on the street."

Bruce smiled, pulling his son close into his side. "Yes we do."

* * *

Not that he would tell anyone, but this was pretty cool. Marcus has not told anyone else but Thor about the god who visited him. Nor has he told anyone about how there was a time after Ross, where he swore his skin turned a shade of blue. If only for a moment.

The teen decided to embrace it, rather than to fight it. It was just genetics, right? He heard Loki could do all this stuff, why not he? He asked for his bed to be by his window while he was recovering. The flesh seemed to turn again when it was near the cold, and, it being February during the time, it was perfect to practice. Keep busy. Most of the time it was just Mark and his dog, Mara, in his room, the tutor he had been issued (he was also determined not to repeat the tenth grade just because he missed almost half of a semester) was only around four days a week.

It went rather slowly in the beginning. Mark would press his palm up to glass and feel the coldness, invite it in, and his fingertips would turn the shade of blue they like did before. More of this and his whole hand, then lower arm, biceps, shoulder, and even his neck all in those first few days. It was strange to let this coldness into his body. It would be freezing the first second, so cold he thought his blood froze, then the shade came it was almost like the cold was never there. After only two weeks, he could control the cold through his whole body. Without even having to touch the window.

It was amazing once he could do it. He felt the cold go through his veins to his feet, all throughout his legs and the muscles, he could feel the damaged ones differently than the formed ones. Some were almost like they were missing entirely. His heart was the weirdest part, the cold had it slow down, like it didn't to pump as much blood as without the freezing veins. At first Mark panicked when his heart slowed, had the cold go away immediately, unfreezing his blood and having the warm was come rushing back.

And that was on the inside, the theory Mark came up with was that the blue skin was like an adaptation to freezing. He was still working on the red iris. It wasn't long before the raven haired boy learned to form frost on the window. He got to ice crystals, and eventually was able to freeze room temperature water in a glass. After about a month and a half, he could even control the color of skin when he froze other things. He started to cheat during recovery, freezing the damaged and deformed muscles so they would heal faster, be stronger.

On the lazy days, when it was getting warmer and he was getting better, Mark would shuffle outside to the balcony, sometimes in a wheelchair, others with a only a can if he felt stronger. He'd sit down on a chair with Mara always by him, and see if the cold would come back without the help of winter temperatures. Sometimes it did, others it didn't. When he was lucky enough to rein control of that cold, there wasn't really much he could do with it. Only put frost on the railing or encase his mother's flowers in ice.

He was worried about her, Darcy. Ever since he got back, she had been, quiet. Darcy was not quiet. She was always moving, shifting, talking, bouncing, doing /something. She used to tell her son ridiculous stories when he was little. There were the usual one about princess and knights and dragons. Other ones were just weird, like talking cacti and that Mara was actually a flying dog that has laser eyes. Eventually Marcus grew out if it, and there were no more stories, she'd still be bouncy, happy Darcy though. The Darcy that would sing as loudly as she could, because she could.

Lately she had done no bouncing. Just went around the apartment, doing what needed to be done without a word, no singing. It wasn't that she was depressed, just..angry. Angry at Ross for hurting her son and angry at Bruce for blaming himself and even being angry at her own self because she couldn't do anything to help him. Darcy could only slowly pace the halls with Mark, he wouldn't let her help him unless he really needed it, he wouldn't even talk to her when he woke up in the middle of the night screaming. Even months after they got Mark back he was still terrified. And Darcy could do nothing.

Mark pretended not to hear her cry. He pretended not to hear Bruce trying to calm her down. This happened a lot in the beginning.

The tension died down when summer came. Everyone was let out of school and they were always with Mark now. Him and Phil and Peter would sometimes spend days at a time in the main den, just being boys again with the Halo and the COD and other things guys do. Abby and Amelia just dragged him outside, along with Mara and they'd mess around in the park or in the pool on the roof, just so Mark would at least get some sun on him. He started to forget about the frost giant part of him, only freezing the occasional pop when it got warm in the summer.

Things did get better, eventually.


	20. The Birds and the Bees

**_ Sorry for the late update, but I shall put up tow chapters to make up for it! _**

**_Includes everyone, the ages differ, whenever you think a kid is ready to have "the talk" if you know what I mean._**

_**At least fourteen though.**_

* * *

Clint was hesitant before knocking on his daughter's door. The conversation that was inevitable was probably the most, awkward one he would ever experience with her. A small 'come in' from the other side had him regretting this decision already.

"Amelia," He started, pulling out a chair to sit in front of the teen on the bed. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Okay, but before you start, the incident at school with the chairs being stacked up like a barricade was totally not my idea." She stated.

Clint looked and at her with a confused expression and raised an eyebrow. "_What_?"

Amelia out on an innocent face. "Nothing."

"You know what?" He raised a hand and shook his head. "I don't even want to know. The thing is that you are getting older, and it's around the time that you will be getting interested in boys, or girls, whatever you want." Clint refused to make eye contact, gesturing with his hands a lot. "Phil, can do his thing, you can do yours."

"Please do not talk to me about this." Amelia realized where this was going.

"And I just wanted you to know that you do not have to do /anything/ you're pressured into if you don't feel comfortable." Clint continued talking over his daughters pleas to stop. "And when you're ready, just," He sighed and closed his eyes all together. "wear a condom."

"Yes. Thank you, dad." The girl looked around awkwardly when he opened his mouth again, she cut him off before he could start. "You /really/ don't need to have this conversation."

"Oh thank god." The archer sighed in relief while getting up from the chair. "Just don't have sex. With anyone. Ever."

* * *

"Peter, we need to talk to you about something very important." Steve started, he put his fingers together and sat down on the desk on his son's room. Tony leaned against the doorway.

Said son was suddenly on alert mode. "Like what? Is everyone okay?"

"Yeah, yeah everyone's fine." The captain assured. "It's you we wanted to talk to."

Tony rolled his eyes and said nonchalantly: "You're gonna wanna have sex."

"Tony!" Steve scolded and Peter put his head in his hands.

"Oh dear."

"Don't say it so, crudely."

Tony shrugged. "The kid knows what it is, he took seventh grade."

"Yeah," Peter interrupted. "And I know you're going to say and I really hope you don't."

"Pete, we just want you to be, safe." Steve continued. "A lot diseases are out there-"

"So cover your dink." Tony blurted out again.

"Oh, God please."

"Tony, stop doing that!"

"And don't be a douche and force anyone to do anything." The genius continued, ignoring his husband.

"Okay, yes, that's a good point." Steve nodded.

Peter just stood up and ushered them out of his room. "Thank you dads. I get it, just leave."

"Be safe!"

* * *

"Hey Mark?" Bruce rapped gently on the door.

The dark haired teen's expression turned nervous. "Is this the talk everyone else has been getting?"

Darcy plopped down next to him on the bed. "Well, yeah." She put it simply.

"Can we just not instead?"

Bruce smiled and gave him a little sympathetic look. "Doesn't work like that. We can go as quick as we can."

"Great," Darcy turned to Mark. "so, just to summarize. Don't be a creepy rapist, wait till you find the one you're sure you love and wear a condom cause I ain't raisin' no babies."

The teenager smiled and laughed. "I think I can do that."

* * *

"Abigail-"

"Condoms good. Rape bad. Don't do it for money. I got this." The girl didn't even look up from the computer screen.

"She's got this."

* * *

"Phillip?" Clint leaned against the doorway, ready for the conversation this time. The first time he just bailed, now he was content.

"Yeah dad?" The red head answered, mouth half full of a sandwich.

He crossed his arms. "You might want to..spit that out, before I say anything."

Phillip's eyes widened and put down the food. "Ooh, no."

"Oh, yeah." Clint sighed. "Look, I think you know what I'm going to say, so we can just make it quick, all right? I only have two rules. 1." He held up a finger. "Don't do anything on any surface other people sit, eat, or bathe on/in."

A laugh came from the teen.

"I'm not kidding. 2. Don't you dare," Clint got real close to his son, expression deadly serious. "even _think_ about forcing anyone into doing anything. 'No' does not mean 'convince them'."

Phillip wasn't surprised completely at the severity in his tone. "Yeah. I know."

"Swear to me."

"I swear." And he was sincere.

That was all that was needed between them.


	21. Sick: Phillip

_**Yay! Two chapters in a day! This story is becoming obnoxiously long...eh, I don't care. **_

_***random Gru from Despicable Me accent* I like to make Steve take care of children for no apparent reason. I also like to write Phil for no reason.**_

_**Boy's fourteen.**_

* * *

Steve sighed in sadness when he heard the retching noise coming from the training room's bathroom.

Clint had been in North Korea for almost three days already, not the most secure place, but he's ran missions down there before. Steve just wanted to check on the kids, Amelia was out somewhere with Abby ("We're going thrifting and to Starbucks to look for hipsters". Steve wasn't quite sure what a hipster was, but he let them go anyway.) as usual. Phillip, had other methods of passing the time.

He'd lock himself in that gymnastics room with a tennis ball, chucking it against the walls, sprinting over the obstacles and catch it. He'd do it over and over again, different angles and over different bars all the time. He'd get that little ball stuck in the rafters and see how long it would take him to get up there and find it, all while doing little flips and tricks off the bars. The sound would always echo off the walls but the kid wouldn't make a peep while moving to catch it. It was quite a sight to see. If he didn't work himself too hard.

"Jarvis?" Steve asked the unspoken question.

"Four hours and thirty eight minutes." The AI almost sounded worried when he spoke again. "Sir, young Mr. Barton's vitals such as temperature and heart rate have become unhealthily high."

Steve kept walking towards the bathroom. "Great." He sighed, pushing the door open to one of the stalls.

The captain was greeted with the sight of his nephew hunched over the toilet, and expelling all contents of his stomach. His white shirt was soaked in sweat, more glistened off his neck and face. Steve knew it wasn't just from his workout, he could almost see the heat emitting from his nephew. He suddenly felt a surge of guilt that he didn't come down here sooner, Phillip never really knew when to quit.

He felt like shit. Phil always felt like shit when he was sick, which was often enough. It was like a ripple in the gene pool, Phillip never saw his mother get sick in all the years he remembered, and whenever Clint to sick it was just a cold, no bother to him. Amelia was average. Got ill maybe once around flu season or something but got over it quickly. Not Phillip. No, he had once ran a fever of 108.2 for six days straight when he was only four years old. That was the worst, Natasha was scared to death the whole time and no one could really do anything to help the boy all that much. Almost died right in the hospital from Pneumonia of all things.

The illness the teen was experiencing now was not as awful, but definitely bad. He laid his sweaty forehead down on the rim of the toilet and shuddered when Steve put a hand on his back.

"Not feeling so hot?" The captain asked.

"I think I just threw up my intestines." Phillip groaned, voice raspy. He clutched his stomach when it started gurgling, threatening to expel its contents-which there was none anyway-and just force Phil to wait there gagging up nothing. His body was weird that way.

Steve sighed and flushed the sick down. "Maybe if you didn't work yourself..."

"Maybe if he wouldn't leave all the time.." Phillip mocked, his tone on offense. It wasn't a secret that the teen did not approve of his father leaving them at least once a month.

"All right, truce." He held his hands up in surrender, not wanting to start anything. The red head had a shot temper when he was feeling under the weather, and Steve really needed him to cooperate if there was a chance he'd be okay before Clint got back. Steve for some reason felt responsible for the kids when Clint was gone. Yes, they were older and could be left alone, but that doesn't necessarily mean Steve's just going to let them be. "Why don't you just take shower and meet me back upstairs?"

"Fine." The teen grumbled and staggered out of the bathroom.

* * *

Phillip drew out a breath of relief when he stepped out of the shower. He never understood how people actually thought showers made them feel better. It's basically work. You stand here for half an hour under either boiling hot or freezing cold water, squeezing a bottle until you are able to get at least a tiny drop of soap, then it's like a race against time to wash yourself fast enough before the water gets too cold again. Don't even start about getting soap in his bad eye, it was only a few months after the incident that almost ended in Phil being blinded. His left eye still had temper tantrums when an eyelash decided to get caught it.

So the so called 'relaxing' shower only made him more exhausted. The teenager donned some thin pajama pants with one of Clint's old T Shirts that he may, or may not have stolen from him. He climbed up the small ladder to loft bed, and flopped down onto the brown sheets. Steve entered a few minutes later.

"Feel better?" The captain asked sympathetically.

"No." Phil groaned into the mattress. "Showers are annoying." He curled into his stomach and nuzzled his head into the pillow.

Steve smiled at the childish action. Phillip was always carrying a bit too much on his shoulders most of the time, he acted like his father when it came to that. Like taking care of Amy or trying to keep his grades at least average and unnecessarily watching out for everyone was no big deal. It was nice to see him let the walls down. "Well just take it easy. That, March Mania or whatever you call it is on. Should I put that on?"

The teen chuckled. "Madness."

"What?"

"It's called March Madness." And Phillip would know, he loved basketball. Him and Clint used to watch it all the time.

"Ah." Steve nodded and clicked on the TV, after flicking a few cans of pop off of the nightstand attached to the wall to find the remote.

The television was at the corner of the wall above the door. Phillip's room was small compared to the other's, a desk with his laptop underneath the loft bed. Which really wasn't even a bed, more like a nest of green and brown and a rusty red colored pillows and blankets, Clint got him hooked on that. An old couch him and Clint found at a garage sale a few years ago sat on the opposite wall from his bed next to the bathroom door. The bottom half of his walls were exposed bricks, the same rusty red color, the top half a dark green regular plaster with a stripe of brown separating the colors. Half a wall, above the brick was just a window that could be dimmed, as it was now. The ceiling was the best, a railway of bars (colored like the red, but were actually rusting now) scaled the entire ceiling, leading to the bathroom, over the couch, to the door, across the window. Some days Phillip didn't even touch the ground.

Steve made sure Phil was all good and comfortable with only the sheet over him instead of the comforter. Kid was still emitting heat, Steve wouldn't be surprised if the controlled-for-right-now fever eventually turned into some kind of flu or infection.

The soldier went into and came out of the bathroom and nudged Phil's shoulder with a glass of water. The teen stared at it like Steve was asking him to drink gasoline. "No." He groaned shaking his head and laying it back down on the pillows. "Anything in my stomach isn't working out."

"C'mon," Steve nagged him. Phillip didn't move. "Don't deal with dehydration too. Jarvis already told me you were down there _four hours_."

"Well, Jarvis is stupid." He grumbled. Just then the AI spoke up.

"I'm sorry sir, but who's idea was it to take shots of pure-caffeinated drinks at eleven pm?" Damn that computer and his smartass-ery.

"Mute." Steve ordered the machine, eyeing the ceiling accusingly. Jarvis _would_ be the only machine who could have the capability to create banter. He sighed and held out the glass again. "And drink." He shot him one of his Captain America glares. The glare that got it's power from freedom itself. And the fact that the conversation got to a point where Steve just wanted to say 'do what I tell you or shit will go down' and was just too polite to say it.

"Whatever," Phillip groaned and took sips of the water. "you're down there way longer and way more often than I am anyway."

"_You_ are not genetically altered." Steve told him nonchalantly. "I was made to handle more. Metabolism and stuff like that. Plus, being sick as a dog doesn't really help."

"Yeah well, whatever." Phillip grumbled and slid his arms underneath the pillows, flipping onto his stomach. "And I'm not a dog." He said, more light heartedly, with a bit of a sleepy tone.

The blonde had a small smile on his face. "No Phil, no you're not." He set the water on the nightstand and dropped two pills next to the glass. "That's something to help you sleep, take it when you're ready. I'll be right upstairs if you need anything, ask Jarvis to get me."

"Okay." Phil mumbled and turned his attention back to the basketball game. Steve nodded a 'good' and started to walk out the door, flicking the lights off so only the TV was lit. "Hey Steve?" The teenager called out for him, he turned around.

"Yeah son?"

"Thanks." The red head whispered.

Steve smiled again. It was a thanks that would never be necessary. He loved that stubborn ass kid almost as much as Clint did. And as much as the old war hero knew that Clint would do anything if he could be able to drop everything and come home when he was needed, Steve would gladly fill in when the archer realized that he couldn't. Steve didn't mind one bit.

"No problem."


	22. How Lauren Would've Changed Everything

_**I'm sorry I'm being so lazy with these updates! **_

_**Maybe some Angsty then turned cute Abby/Peter sibling love will help? **_

_**In the summer, just starting their senior year. **_

_**Pete's already eighteen and Abby's still seventeen.**_

* * *

"Hey Abby," Peter called out into the apartment, carrying the mail with him and an envelope addressed to his sister above his head. "You got a letter."

The blonde perked up and looked away from the Mac on her lap. "Ooh, old fashion communication! Who's it from?" She got up reached out her arms for the letter. Tony was mildly listening but didn't turn away from his tablet.

Peter cocked his head and looked at the return address. "A...Lauren Richards." He stopped and made a face. Tony blinked and got up from the couch, heading towards his son. "Wasn't Richards your...?"

"Nope." Tony scurried in between the two and plucked the letter of of Peter's hands. "Not important."

"Dad!" Abby protested and tried to grab his arm. "I wanna see it."

Steve entered the scene, hearing the noise. "What's going here?"

"Dad won't let me see a letter, addressed to /me." Abby spoke up before Tony could tell the soldier anything.

Steve rolled his eyes and threw an annoyed look to his husband. "Tony, you're not five-"

"Or Vernon Dursely." Peter cut in, not seeing the harm in letting Abby read a letter. A small glare from Tony had him quieting down again.

Steve sighed. "Let her see it."

Tony made a face and stepped closer to Steve. "It's from Lauren Richards."

"Lauren Richards, Lauren Richards?" Steve asked in disbelief.

"Who is Lauren Richards?" Abby shouted, looking between her parents. Something clicked right then, a thought that hadn't passed through her mind in years. "Is she my mother?" She asked quietly.

"Tony I think we should tell her." Steve eyed the genius.

"Tell me what?" She looked back at the blonde man, suddenly a bit angry. "Why she's apparently not allowed to talk to me?"

Steve held out his hand in a calming matter. "Abigail, there's a reason why we never wanted you to see her."

"And what would that be?" She spat at him. "You let Peter see his Aunt all the time!"

The older boy backed up and threw his hands up in surrender. "Don't bring me or May into this."

Tony had enough of this. He took a step forward and started to yell. "That's because Peter's Aunt and Uncle never tried to kill him!"

Abigail whipped her head to Tony and stepped back a little. Peter kept alternating from Tony to Steve, who just sighed and closed his eyes.

Abby swallowed thickly. "_What?_" She blinked and shook her head. "No. No, she only had to give me up because her husband died." She looked to Steve, hoping to find some reassurance. He just gave her the 'I'm so sorry' look. "She couldn't take of me on her own." Abby wiped some of the moisture out of her eyes and turned back to Tony. "Right?"

"Sweetie," He stared more gently, the complete hurt in his daughter's eyes had the billionaire regretting his earlier tone. "that's not what happened."

He pulled her back over to the couch, wrapped in a tight embrace with Steve flinging an arm around them both. Peter sat with his back against the arm of the couch with knees drawn up to his chest, listening quietly as Tony started again. Treading carefully and quietly.

"Your biological father left when you and Lauren Richards when you were a year old. She started to drink. A lot. CPS took you away for five months while Lauren got clean. You were under her custody again, but she was impatient. Not ready to take of you, so she went back to drinking." Tony kept stroking her hair softly. Peter started to pick at a hangnail, still listening. "When you were almost two, you and Lauren were at a grocery store, she was already a bit drunk. You had a temper tantrum over something, and she lost it. In the middle of the store. She took you out of the cart, grabbed a wine bottle, and just started hitting you." He squeezed her closer as Steve picked up.

"People at the store had to drag her off you, part the bottle hit an artery in your neck. That birthmark?" He rubbed the discolored spot on Abby's neck lightly. "Is not a birthmark. She lost all her custody rights to you. A few years later dad and I found you and we knew you were ours. The agency only told us what happened because your mother showed up again when we were going through the adoption process." Steve sighed and rested his head on hers. "I'm sorry we never told you Abby."

She sniffed loudly and pushed her self out of the tangle of limbs to stand in front of them. "It's okay." The girl crumpled the envelope sitting on the table and shoved it in her pocket. She huffed and shrugged while starting to walk towards her room. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"Abby-" Steve tried to make sure she was okay.

"It's fine pop." She pushed and hurried out of the room.

* * *

"I locked the door for a reason." Abby groaned, not even moving on her bed to face him.

Peter sighed from where he was hanging on her wall by a hand and a foot, thanks to the whole powers thing. "You didn't lock your windows." He shrugged and dropped down on her bed next to Abby. He rubbed her shoulder and pulled her to sit up next to him. Peter wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "You okay?"

She buried her head into his side. "Yeah." Her voice cracked and she couldn't help the sudden flow of tears coming out. "No." She choked out. Abby crossed her arms and slunk more into the bed.

Peter rubbed her arm in a comforting manner. "It's all okay Ab." His eye caught the unscrunched piece of paper at the edge if the bed. "Did you read it already?"

Abby nodded into his side. "She never even wanted me Pete." She got out between sobs and wiped her eyes. "She didn't even mention herself doing anything wrong. Not even a sorry. Just said how happy she is now. That she found some douche in Ohio or something." She started to cry harder and clung to her brother. "She has kids Peter. Two little kids and she said that she hasn't even touched a drink in years."

Peter looked down at her. "Well, that's good. Isn't it?"

"No, you idiot!" She scolded him, hitting him in the stomach. He grunted.

"I don't think I understand then."

Abby groaned and pushed herself up to face him. "If she was going to have some stupid white picket fence life in Ohio and just get her shit together, then why the hell couldn't she do that with me?"

Peter searched for the right words to say, hating to see his little sister be so angry and sad at some woman she didn't know. He leaned forward, and rested his arms on his knees. Peter turned around to look at the pictures filling up Abby's wall and got an idea.

"Because if Lauren Richards would've taken you to Ohio," He jumped up and grabbed a picture off the wall and showed it to her. It was Abby when she was only five, a white little dress and carrying a basket full of flowers. "who would've been the flower girl at Bruce and Darcy's wedding? Or," He grabbed a few more off the wall. The picture had the two of them covered in spaghetti noddles. "who would've gladly made all those messes with me. Or this one," Abby teaching Amelia how to braid hair. "who on Earth could've taught Amy things Natasha couldn't?"

Another with her trying to lift Thor's hammer.

One where she was helping to train Mara.

Playing baseball with Steve.

Many pictures of her carrying stacks of books out of Barnes and Noble.

Building snowmen.

Climbing trees.

Swimming.

Hiking.

At the zoo.

The eighth grade Washington, D.C. trip.

"And especially these ones." Peter flipped through another stack of photos.

One had her, and Mark in the park after Ross, sharing a large bowl of ice cream. It was after a panic attack, one of the last ones he'll have in a while. "Who would've dragged that kid out of his own twisted mind and helped feel safe again?"

A picture of Phil when he was regaining his eyesight in the hospital. Everyone and Abby was helping him up a flight of stairs so Phil would get used to it if the surgery didn't work completely. "Who on Earth could've been optimistic as you about that?"

The next photo was her and Amelia back to back on a couch, both on a laptop. Abby was giving him the look of annoyance as Peter took the photograph. "Who would be a total fangirl with Amy and give her a distraction when Ribner was still haunting her?"

And the last had her stretching with Peter, the back brace on the side of the yoga mats they were using. It was after the same car crash with Phil, fractured his spine in two places. "And who would kick my ass in gear to make sure I was staying on my feet?" He smiled at her. "We love you Abby, and we probably need you more than any of us realize."

By that time Abigail was crying for a whole different reason.


	23. Les Miserables

_**Welp, sorry for the week long delay! BUUUUTTTT guess who wrote an 11K+ chapter about a musical with angst and love and humor to make up fro it? THIS GIRL.**_

_**SOO**_

_**Phil and Mark are 17**_

_**Peter and Abby are 18**_

_**Amelia is 14 and turns 15**_

_**Spreads out from January to late March**_

* * *

"I don't care how much you don't care, Mr. Barton, but you're GPA must be higher if you want to pass the eleventh grade!" The Student Counselor, Mr. Christopher Bates, exclaimed a little too loudly while talking to Phillip in his office. It's not that Bates doesn't like _Phil_, it's more his attitude and hobby to piss off every faculty member in this school, not to mention all the acts of violence displayed over the past few months. Bates only wanted him out of the school before someone pressed charges or something. "Your Algebra 2 D- absolutely needs to come up. You only have anything higher than a C- in Public Speaking, and PE."

"I'm a physical kind of kid." Phillip, honestly, did not like Bates, didn't like the way he sort of crawled into his mind, and would do anything and everything to annoy him until the day he literally pulls his hair out. So he simply glared at the man and put his boots up on his desk. "And how do you expect me to do that, my dear friend?" He asked sarcastically while slumping deeper in the chair. He cuffed his hands and put them over his waistline.

Bates shot him a look and shooed his feet off the table, they didn't move. He sighed and leaned back into his chair. Job, focus on your job, helping students, not yelling at them. "You have half the year left, you could try more on exams and things." He ignored the scoff that came from the student. "Or," Bates have him an amusing look. "Might I suggest the spring musical, that would certainly count for art credits, hmm?"

Phillip raised an eyebrow and crossed his leg. "I would rather become a drop out and work in a whore house than be the stereotypical flamboyant fag-"

"Mr. Barton, do you want to pass or not?" Bates interrupted his spiel before it turned into a yelling match. There had been a few rumors about whatever is going at the Barton household ever since Phillip passed out in the hall. Bates could only hope they were not true. Though from what he has seen and heard from both of the Barton children at the school, all the signs seem to be pointing towards that Phillip and Amelia were a bit too much to handle for a single father. Bates wondered if he just snapped sometimes.

The counselor leaned over his desk to look the boy in the eye, only to have him look to the ground. He spoke quietly. "You're a smart kid Phillip, I know you don't think that, but-"

"You don't know half of what you think, Mr. Bates." The teen snapped at him, not looking up.

"No," He agreed softly. "I guess I don't. But I do think it's a good idea...just, consider it?"

Phillip finally eyed him, sending a glare his way. The red head eventually dropped his feet from the desk, slung his back pack over his shoulder and stalked out. "Maybe." Was thrown over his shoulder as he exited the room.

Mr. Bates let out a breath and leaned back in his chair.

At least a 'maybe' was better than the 'go screw yourself' he was expecting.

* * *

"Well I think it's a great idea." Abigail announced happily as her, Phillip, Amelia, and Markus were walking out of the school building. "I was going to try out for it anyway, this'll be even better!" She nudged the shorter boy with her shoulder and smiled when he only looked away from her.

"Oh c'mon Phil, you loved Les Mis." Amelia chirped from behind Mark.

"I _loved_ Aaron Tveit's ass." He mocked.

Abby nudged him again. "You should be Enjolas then!"

"I'm not going to be Enjolas Abby, I'm going to be a stage hand or something." Phillip tried not to feel regretful when her face saddened.

Mark rolled his eyes. He knew Phil needed the credit, and he wasn't about to let his brother be left behind. There was only one way Phillip would ever agree to be in the play, it took a moment of debate on whether what he will say would backfire on him or not. "I'll do it if you do it."

Abby brightened again. "Awesome, Marius." Abby pointed to Mark. "Enjolas." She hit Phil on the chest. "now we need Pete."

"Why is Mark the only one who gets to live?"

"What about me?" Amelia asked.

Mark gave her a sorry look. "Freshmen aren't allowed to be in the musicals."

"That's so dumb."

Phillip spoke up again. "I'm not being in this stupid thing."

"Yes you are." They all said at the same time. Phil threw his hands up in a moment of frustration as Peter joined the little group next to Abby.

"What are we doing?"

"Oh look, it's interrupting Javert."

Abby ignored Amelia and shot Peter an amused smile. "We're forcing Phillip to be Les Mis for GPA credits. Me and Mark doing it too."

"Whoa," Markus held up a hand. "I only said I was trying out if Phil was."

"Which I'm not."

"_Yes_, you _are_!"

"Did you guys rehearse this of something?"

Amelia let out a small chuckle. "Abby did want some way to convince you to be Enjolas." She adjusted the strap to her backpack on her shoulder. "For quite some time now."

"You _planned_ this?" Phil asked in confusion.

Abby shot a glare towards Amy before Mark explained. "She actually went to Mr. Bates suggesting it."

Phillip threw the older girl a look of disbelief, and possibly a small flash of betrayal in his eyes. "Really?" He spat.

Abigail immediately went into defense. "Oh c'mon, you can't be mad at me, I wanted to help you. Phil, don't act like we don't hear you singing Walk The Moon in the shower, you got yo daddy's voice."

Peter raised an eyebrow at the slur in her voice. "Why did you turn gangster for like, five seconds?"

"Not important." Abby have him a little 'shut up' gesture and turned back to Phillip. "Are you going to do it or not?"

The red head blew out a breath and shrugged. Mark nudged him with his shoulder. "C'mon, I'm gonna do it. We'll be the barricade boys."

"That's sounds like the worst boy band name ever." Phil scoffed. "But fine, I'll try out for the stupid depressing musical."

* * *

Clint shrugged and nodded from where he was cooking some hamburgers on the fryer over the stovetop. "I think it's a good idea." He expressed lightly to Phil, who was sitting on the island behind Clint. "You know, keep you occupied and stuff."

"Noo." Phillip leaned back on his palms, almost disappointed. "You were supposed to be evil and not let me do this. You were my excuse so say no to Abby."

Clint chuckled and started stacking he burgers on a plate. "Well call me satanic, I'm going to _make_ you do it. Just cuz I can." He held out the plate to Phil. "To the table."

The teen groaned but took the plate to their dinner table on the other side of the bar in the kitchen. "I don't need to be occupied." He grumbled under his breath.

Clint heard it. "Don't act like I have no idea you were at the warehouse again." He said sternly and turned to face him. The casual tone Clint used with Phil was gone, in came the strict father. "I thought we talked about that."

Phillip purposely turned to look away from him. "I didn't even fight." He said quietly.

"No, you just went to bet." Clint squinted his eyes. "You know this how gambling addictions start."

"I don't think I'm going to, acquire, or something, a gambling addiction. Just because I'm making a few bets with losers on the East side." Phil's voice thickened and put a plate down on the table a bit forcefully. He spun on his heel to meet Clint's gaze.

"Really, Phil?" Clint asked sardonically and crossed his arms. "Is that why you kept going there after you lost the first time? Or the second or third or fourth? Whenever you got in over your head and you just kept going back, is that 'just making a few bets'? Phillip someone almost _killed_ you over money. I'm telling you now like I've told you before, _I will not always be here to drag your ass out of the fire._"

"I should be able to make own decisions, I'm a big boy now dad."

"This is not about freedom, Phil. I told you to stay away from there."

"You told me to stay out of the ring."

"You deliberately disobeyed my orders."

"Orders?" The teen laughed humorlessly. "Was that what they were, dad? Orders? Cuz I'm just a little soldier boy to you."

"_Phillip-_" Clint cut himself short when he noticed Amelia walk in.

The blonde looked between the two, unamused. "Oh, don't stop this _wonderful_ discussion just cuz I'm here." She told them sarcastically and sat down at the dinner table. "So are we going to suffer through the awkward family meal like we do every time you guys get in a cat fight, or just stare at each other?"

They ate in silence.

Clint eventually cornered Phillip again in his room.

"What?" Came the muffled groan from Phil, not taking out the headphones blasting music or lift his head from where it was buried in the mound of pillows he had on his bed.

Clint ignored the attitude coming from the teenager and sat on the couch. With a sigh he leaned back, determined not to turn this into another fight. No, this was a calm, problem solving discussion. Still after the whole 'everything out in open' talk in September Phillip still had this swell of anger inside him, coming out in random bursts seemingly from no where. Six Saturday detentions were the outcome of the fits. "Can you at least look at me?" The archer started calmly, linking his fingers together.

The music stopped abruptly and Phil turned his head, agonizingly slow just to make Clint wait, to face him. "Yes?" The assassin didn't expect someone to make 'yes' sound like a term of offense.

"Let's start with why the hell are you so angry all the time?" He started quietly.

"I have angst." Phil answered simply. "I'm a teenager."

"I see that. I want to know why though."

"I don't knoooow." Phillip grumbled and sunk deeper into the pillows. "Maybe cuz I'm now forced into a musical, like _that_ isn't the stereotypical gay kid thing to do. Or possibly because I'm failing math and I can't do anything about it and everyone's expecting me to but the freakin teacher flat out _refuses_ to do visuals or extra help or even use colored paper cuz it shows 'special treatment' or some shit." He sighed and flipped on his back. His bed shook.

Clint blew out a breath and ran a hand down his face. It was always the damn teachers pushing down on this kid. "I know kid." He said. "I can go down there and-"

"No," Phil cut him off. "That'd be worse. Then she'll only see it as I'm not trying hard enough and think I'm blaming her."

Clint looked up to him sternly said: "Phillip, you should blame her. She's not even trying to help you."

"I shouldn't need help." Phil put his palms over his eyes with his elbows pointed to the ceiling. "I shouldn't _be_ angry. I shouldn't _act_ like asshole to everyone. I shouldn't _feel_ awful all the time because _nothing_ is wrong. And I shouldn't _hate_ myself for no reason at all." He sighed heavily. "I have a fine life. I have a family that loves me and were not starving or poor or anything."

The sheer amount of _pain_ in his son's voice had Clint closing his eyes. He looked up again when Phil took his hands off his eyes and spoke again, voice cracking.

"Why the hell _am_ I so angry, dad?" He asked desperately, taking his hands away from his eyes and burying his head in the pillows. "I feel so close to the edge, you know? Like, _the_ edge dad. And, I'm actually scared."

Clint stood up to run a gentle hand through the red hair sticking up. It would normally being an annoying gesture that Phillip would move away from. If anyone asked, Clint would deny it, but it just broke his heart to see his own son so, out of it. "I'm gonna help you, kid."

Phillip didn't even protest when the archer took his pistol.

* * *

"C'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon!" Abigail was practically bouncing as she guided Mark through the crowded morning halls to the school's announcement board.

"Can I ask why you're dragging me excitedly?" He had to yell over the noise of other people in the hall. Mark barely had time to duck under a large piece of carpet some janitors were carrying. How the eighty year old (at the least) Mr. Lee managed to carry half of the rug will forever amuse the students.

Abby stopped in front of the bulletin board and pointing to a list. "They released the parts for Les Mis." She said out of breath, but happily. She smirked smugly and put a hand on her hip. "I'm Cosette, bitch."

"That's awesome!" Markus congratulated. "Did I get the part _you_ wanted me to play?" The raven haired teen was perfectly fine with a small part like Joly or Courfeyrac. But no, Abby put him down for Marius on the audition paper. Same with Phil for Enjolas.

"You did, actually. Both you and Phil."

"Oh, great. Now I'm the blind lover you falls for..Cosette." Mark glared at her. "You plan that too?"

Abigail looked to the ground dug her toe into a crack in the tile. "Didn't think of that, believe it or not."

"Great, this won't be awkward at all."

Abby bit the inside of her cheek and glanced at the list again. "Hey," she said amused and smirked at the younger boy. "guess who's playing Eponine?"

"Who?" Mark asked. Mostly uninterested.

"That Claire girl." She sang devilishly.

Mark tried not to think about the rather pretty Claire Matthews pretending to die in his arms on stage. He also tried to ignore the way his head started to speed up at the very mention of her. Claire was a bit, strange, you could say. She insisted to get to school by rollerblading, and was basically a slightly altered version of Luna Lovegood. Only a bit more, quiet, about it all. She didn't tell anyone about her family or where she lived or anything. She was that kid that wore the relatively similar things everyday. Long sleeves and jeans. Mostly black or dark colors. "What about her?" Markus swallowed.

"C'mon." Abby rolled her eyes and lightly punched his shoulder. "The girl you've been _drooling_ over since the beginning of the year? Don't try to act like you don't have a thing for the weirdo."

"I _do not_." He pressed.

Abby smiled doubtfully and held a little 'okay' sign up with her hands. She mouthed a joking 'okay, sure' and started to step/bounce away.

Mark let out a small laugh and turned around, almost having a heart attack when _the_ Claire Matthews was suddenly behind him. She looked up, being considerably shorter than him (well, mostly everyone was, Markus was almost six foot two), and her bright blue eyes lined with the same blue eyeliner found his, the dip dyed electric blue ends of her black hair curly and bouncing. She started to spin around him, like she was analyzing him, she had not even taking her rollerblades off yet. How she was able to get all the way to school in those, even in January, no one may ever know.

"Markus Banner." She said, seemingly amused.

"Yes?" He replied, trying to hide the nervousness.

She stopped in front of him and bit her lip. "Guess I'm supposed to fancy you?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Um, what?"

"In the play, Eponine and Marius." Claire crossed her arms over her chest. "She's in love with him, he doesn't love her, she dies for him, it's quite tragic. You think?"

He swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. I guess it is."

She suddenly smiled widely and rolled away. "See you at rehearsals then."

Mark let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. He wiped his forehead, only to find he was sweating. The teen quickly invited a small amount of the cold he had become familiar with to calm himself down and slow his heartbeat.

Yes, this mysterious Claire girl certainly had a firm grip Markus Banner.

* * *

"Lights! Center stage!" The director of the production, Mr. Hiddleston called out to Amelia in the cat walks. She practically begged to part of the play, but as nice as the director was, freshmen were not permitted a part. He did, however put her down as a stage crew member. Peter only joined her because he would not let himself be the only one not part of this whole deal.

It was only three weeks into the rehearsals and Phillip actually sort of enjoyed it. Enjolas was a pretty bad ass character, devoting his whole cause to the revolution. Phil mostly enjoyed the Red and Black scene, mostly because Mark had to act like a total in love idiot, which he actually was being lately. The boy who was playing Grantaire was the best, he had as much sass as the character. His name was David something, Phil didn't bother to remember, but he sure liked his style.

"Okay, great job everyone!" Mr. Hiddleston clapped his hands. "Now I want everyone to practice lines, maybe go over them with a partner over the weekend. See you Monday, fantastic kids, you are."

Most of the other actors quickly dispersed to go home. Phillip had to wait up for everyone at the door, Peter was driving, they all (and by all I mean all but Peter) decided that he was a good chauffeur to use everyday. By said door to the back parking lot, were a few people who have made there way onto Phillip's shit list. Three of them were the Hammer triplets, Thomas, Braydon, and Sebastian Hammer. Yeah, Hammer as is ass hat Justin Hammer's kids. Them along with none other than Bobby Drake, the looks on their faces seemed to almost call Phil, urging him to throw a punch. He had felt a bit better ever since Clint talked to him a few weeks ago, but right then he just felt it all come back, for no particular reason.

"Can you try to not kill them for five seconds when we walk by?" Peter pulled Phil out of the mindset he was in on how many ways you could injure someone the wrench he saw laying in the corner.

"Me? It's your dad's rivalry." Phillip crossed his arms but continued to glare at the four jocks.

"Yeah, and I'll be the first to admit that they're dicks, but I don't think it's them you're mad at." Peter tilted his head towards Bobby. Phil rolled his eyes.

"I don't care." He claimed with a slightly arrogant air.

Pete looked at him and spoke softly. "I think you do."

Phillip looked at him angrily. "Well I think I'm about adding you to my kill list, Pete. So why don't you shut it before I make Abby an only child?"

Peter just leaned back against the wall in silence. Not that he thought Phil would follow through with all the threats, but the brunette didn't see the need to feed the chip on that kid's shoulder.

Abby, who heard none of this, was in the catwalks. Amy was always going on about how awesome all the platforms were up there, the older girl only saw the easy possibilities of slipping and falling thirty feet down to the hardwood stage.

"Amelia?" She called out. "Want to actually move your ass down to the car? Everyone's waiting."

"Just a second, you have to see this!" The blonde popped her head out from behind a pipe above Abigail. "Get up here." The senior sighed and pulled herself up. Amy took her hand and guided her along the older catwalks, the ones the school didn't use anymore because they were old and breaking. They built the same platform right under the old ones.

The two stopped at a large, darkened platform. Amelia fiddled with a light switch before several strings of white Christmas lights turned on. They showed the whole platform, it looked like a thing you would see on doomsday preppers. There was a mattress with blankets and pillows in the middle of the floor, food that wouldn't spoil and shampoo and other hygienic supplies lined the railing.

"Does someone _live_ up here?" Abby asked.

Amy shrugged. "Don't know, found it at the beginning on rehearsal. Wanted to get a better look." Her phone started buzzing, she slid her finger across the screen. "What Phil?...Okay, we're coming, don't get your tampon in a knot, jeez."

Abby laughed into her fist.

* * *

"I have a feeling today will not be a very good day." Mark was _not_ talking to his dog, that'd be crazy. He was thinking aloud, and Mara just happened to be listening. They were sitting on the floor of his dark room, it was barely two in the morning on February 22. Exactly one year since the whole Ross incident. Bruce told him that he could stay home, Mark thought he wouldn't need it. His subconscious decided otherwise, seeming to like keeping him awake.

Mara, ever aware of her favorite person, was immediately in his room. Mark really didn't feel like having a 120 pound dog jump on his bed (and she was the _runt_), so he sat himself on the floor next to her, leaning against the foot of his bed. He softly pet the graying fur around her nose and face as they sat, Mara's big head on his lap. Just the feeling of another living thing by him kept Markus calm, kept him there. He'd read all these things about dogs being anchors to people, like sick people in hospitals would sometimes have dogs around because they made them feel better. He supposed Mara was no different. He loved the old girl and she certainly showed favoritism for him.

So she kept him calm. He wasn't at that facility. He wasn't tied down to a table or chained to a wall. Their was no one hurting him. No one trying to drown him. No one trying to electrocute him. No one burning him with a poker, stabbing him, cutting off his air. The _worst_ was the heat they put him through. Locked in a cell with something blasting hot air and humidity through the vents. That's what seemed to hurt Mark the most, that's what Ross put him through the most. Old man was determined to bring out the monster that wasn't inside him.

But he was safe now. He was in his bedroom, in his apartment. Bruce and Darcy were sleeping right across the hall. Phil and Amy and Clint were right up stairs. Abby and Pete and Tony and Steve were right above them. Mara was in his lap. He was safe.

There would be no panic attacks tonight.

Mark would sleep.

And he did.

* * *

For an hour.

Apparently Mark's subconscious was a total asshole and wanted to send a few night terrors his way, keep him up all night. Mara was still in the room, which was suddenly causing him to become claustrophobic. Mark knew it was so stupid, and would probably cause his parents to have a heart attack, but he needed to get out of the tower. He threw on some clothes and got Mara's leash out so she could come with him.

As a defense, even if a hell of a weak one, he _did_ leave a note.

For some reason he found himself on a subway headed for the school. He didn't make eye contact with anyone on the cart. Even if it was because he was a seventeen year old with a giant dog on a subway at three in the morning, it still made him paranoid.

Mark's feet took him to the school, the backstage door was always open. He not-so-quietly bursted the door open and got to stage. It was pitch black in the whole auditorium except for the glowing red exit signs and the light that was always on above the levers for the lights on the stage.

Mark sat right at the center of the stage, his knees drawn up his chest and his elbows resting on them. He held his head in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. It was getting longer again, down to his ear lobes almost. Thor once said to him he looks a lot like Loki. Mark never meant to look like his father, in all honesty he was just too lazy to get a haircut. He liked it that way anyway.

The teenager was so caught up in his thoughts (about his _hair_, how weird), that he didn't notice a faint light pop on above the catwalks. He didn't notice the person quietly climb down the ladder and step on the hardwood floor of the stage. Mark didn't think of it as anything when Mara sudden stood on all fours and faced the direction of this person walking towards him. Mark did look up when she started growling, and jumped when some one touched his back.

Mara barked, the person yelped. Mark slid himself away from the hand and instinctively created some ice on the floor between them. He heard the sound of the person slipping and falling on the floor with a thump. He dug his hand into Mara's thick coat of fur to keep him from panicking because there was _no way this was going to happen to him again._

"What the hell?" A voice said, feminine, familiar. Mark heard her fumbling with something in her pocket before a bright light shined on him. A flashlight. "Markus?" She said in disbelief while he tried to get the light out of his eyes.

"Get away from me." He demanded, crab crawling backwards.

"Hey, hey, hey. It's okay." She put the light on herself, giving him a few seconds to recognize her black hair, the electric blue tips that matched her eyes.

Claire.

"It's just me." She put a hand up. "You know, Eponine? Maybe 'that weird chick with the roller blades'?" Claire huffed a laugh. She stood up and shined the light on the ice on the floor. "How did you do that?"

Mark heaved in a few breaths and stayed silent for a moment. Mara still was on defense, he patted her back as a sign to relax and sit. She did, but still kept her eyes on Claire, like she knew the girl scared her owner almost into a panic attack. Eventually the boy swallowed and accepting the fact that 'no, she wasn't going to hurt him', but why was she there? He looked her over, no makeup she usually wore, and was wearing only a sweatshirt and old pajama pants. Mark had to admit she looked more beautiful when she wasn't wearing black.

"What are you doing here?" He managed to ask.

"I'm pretty sure you owe me a bigger explanation for the apparent ice rink the school has now." She raised an eye brow and gestured to the ice. "Hold on though, it's creepily dark in here." She ran over to the light above the levers, pulling one to turn on the blue lights. They were light to see each other but dark enough not to blind them, she _did_ just wake up. "Now spill."

"Excuse me if I need a moment." Mark rolled her eyes, and finally seemed to notice he just gave away his secret. "Oh, that."

"Yeah, this." Claire smiled and tapped the ice. "How the _hell_ did you do this?"

"That," Mark leaned back on his hands. "is a loooong story. I bet your reasons for sleeping on a stage are shorter, so why don't _you_ start."

Claire sighed and pushed her hair behind her ears. She stepped around the rink of ice and sat next to Mark, mirroring his pose unconsciously. "Well," she started quietly. "only if we're swapping stories." She tried to laugh off the fact that her heart was pounding at the same rate as Mark's, only she had no idea about it, they both just realized where they were and who they were with. The boy nodded and shrugged. "Okay, I live in a huge ass apartment with eleven brothers and sisters with my rich ass parents who need everyone to be perfect. Mostly my dad, well, it's all my dad, actually. But whatever. So I sort of partially moved into an abandoned cat walk platform, but I go back home all the time, it's just when I need to get out. I pay for a lunch, eat cereal other times, take showers in the locker room and sleep up there. I don't blade _to_ school, I blade _before_ school. It's better than where I was, at least." She looked to her feet. "You know that David kid?" Mark nodded. "He's actually my twin brother, thankfully not horrid, but the rents sure like him a lot."

"I can see that, you and David." Mark stayed silent for a moment. "At least your story is reasonable. Mines just batshit crazy and you'll probably think I'm insane."

"Boy, you just created ice from nowhere, I'm debating whether _I'm_ insane."

Markus blew out a breath and laid on his back. He relayed practically his whole life to her, beginning to present. "So now, I'm _still_ recovering and have a grip on this whole frost giant thing. Just waiting to see what happens next I guess." By this time Mara was half asleep next to them.

Claire licked her lips and swallowed, looking down to him. "So it's not muscular dystrophy?"

Markus chuckled and bit his thumb nail. "No," he shook his head. "I was actually cursed as a baby by an age old god."

"And your dad,- your dad, the _god_ - just sort of pops up from time to time?"

"Basically." He shrugged. "I haven't seen him forever though. It's only when I'm in need or something."

"Wow." Claire huffed and chuckled. "_That_ is really fucking awesome." She titled her back to look at the ceiling and slid to lay on her back, her shoulder touched Mark's. "So you're dad, is like a.."

"Man, but sometimes turns into a giant green monster. But the monsters cool with us."

"You've seen him to do it?" Claire asked, not looking away from the ceiling.

Markus shrugged, but nodded. "Twice, once when I was like, eight and another time when I was thirteen. Apparently it happened after Ross but I was sort of, non responsive." He trailed off and purposely looked away from her.

The dark haired girl could tell it was a sensitive topic for Mark, but she couldn't help herself from asking him softly: "What happened to you in there?"

"A lot of things." He swallowed, just noticing his voice had become raw at just talking about it. Mark coughed and continued. "When I woke up, it was actually only Phil there."

He wouldn't tell her that he'd never seen seen him look so tired and so relieved at the same time.

"He told me that m mom dragged my dad off to get some actual food and sleep, so he took the shift."

He wouldn't tell her that he _knows_ Phil didn't sleep at all the whole week Mark was gone.

"I don't remember maybe a day or two near the end, but Phillip told me that he went with the rest of the adults to get me, and that I wasn't breathing when they found me."

Mark didn't even know about Phillip being the one to find him in a cell, no heartbeat and not one breath. He didn't know about Clint having the drag the screaming teen off of the body so Tony could revive him.

The teen sucked in a breath. "But, we're all okay now."

"I hope." Claire said sincerely. She turned to face him, hoping that she showed some solace in her eyes.

"It's really not that big of a deal."

"Dude, you live with _the_ Avengers. The ones people tell stories about, the _heroes_." She turned her tone to be lighter, trying to get away from the memories that clearly haunt him. "Why don't you tell some these shitheads here at school? They'd treat all of you, even Phil and Amy, like _kings_. Like Peter and Abby."

Mark sighed and twiddled his thumbs across his chest. "We can't...My uncle, he's an assassin, a _covert_, assassin. If people know who he is, there'd be tons of people after him, after Phil and Amy too. My dad, people would only see the monster, not the man. Our own _government_ came after me just cuz they thought I had the same deal going on inside me. And the only reason Pete and Abby are fine, is because they're in the media, in the spot light. If anyone touches them, they're screwed." He let out a breath looked at Claire. "We'd rather have each other be safe than treated like royalty."

Claire nodded, understanding, but not completely. "I get it, I guess." She started. "But you, Markus Banner, if you think about it. _Are_ royalty. You said this Loki guy is your father?" The other teen nodded. "And he's the brother of Thor, the _heir_ to the throne of Asgard." She made a rolling motion with her hands.

Mark didn't see it.

Claire rolled her eyes and went on. "Thor's king after Odin, if Thor doesn't have any sons, who you inherit the throne? The nephew." She hit his chest lovingly and smiled. "You're a prince, my dear boy."

The teenager started to blush and nodded modestly. "I..guess I am." He huffed a laugh and sat up. "Huh, I'm a prince."

Claire sat the same way as Mark again. "No one wonder you're so handsome, it's like a rule for princes, isn't it?" She looked away and tried to ignore how stupid that actually sounded out loud. "That was really bad."

He smiled brightly at her and went out on a limb to brush her hair behind her ear. "It wasn't." He said quietly. "And if it's the rules of princes, it should definitely be a rule if princesses. I'm starting to think, Claire Matthews, that you should be a princess cuz you're certainly following that rule of being beautiful."

Claire looked back up to him. Suddenly they were leaning in towards each other. Here, on the hardwood floor of a dimly lit stage next to melting ice, these two kids who never thought the other one noticed them, were leaning into each other. Their foreheads touched, they could feel each other's breath against their lips.

Oh my god this was really happening to them and this really is that moment that everyone talks about and it actually was exciting and oh my god they were going to have their firs kiss with each other and oh boy.

Then Mark's phone rang.

Successfully ruining the moment.

But they had to laugh, keeping their forehead touching each others.

"Think I should, get that." Mark said awkwardly. He pulled away from her and got his phone from his pocket, ready for the oncoming fireworks on the other end if the line. "Mom?" He greeted, trying to sound innocent.

"Where. The. Hell. Are. You?" He could tell Darcy was holding back the fear for him and the anger at him.

"Mom, I'm sorry. But I _needed_ to get out." He explained softly. "I'm okay, I'm at the school."

Darcy sighed heavily on the other end. "I know babe. I get it. Just..wake me up? Next time, okay?I don't think it's the healthiest thing for me to be waking up with you gone." Her tone became lighter and gentle. "I love you."

"I love you too." Mark searched for the snicker from Claire, but there was none.

"Come home soon? Dad would appreciate it, he's sort of freaking out right now."

He gave Claire a sorry look. "Yeah, I'll leave soon. Keep him calm."

"I got it covered. Thank you." They hung up.

Mark flipped the phone over in his hand and looked up at the girl. "My parents are flipping out. I _really_ have to leave." He stood up and held out a hand to help her. "I'm really sorry."

"Hey, can't really blame them." Claire only shrugged and suddenly stood on her tip-toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Maybe next time, Prince Markus." She curtseyed mockingly.

He smiled, kissed her in the same fashion and bowed.

"Certainly, m'lady."

* * *

"Man," Amy scoffed when she entered Markus' room thirteen hours later. "Next time you want to have a freak out, don't go off on some adventure in the middle of the night. That never ends well for anyone." She gave him a small joking smile and sat on his desk by his computer.

The older boy ran his fingers through his hair and leaned back in the chair to look at her with a smirk. "Shut up, you're like twelve."

Amelia crossed her arms over her chest and crossed her legs. "I'm fifteen."

"14.917."

"Did that all in your head?"

"Yes, actually."

"Whatever." The blonde rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall, still on the desk. Her expression turned serious and looked at Mark. "Are you okay?" She asked softly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you Phil now?"

"The anniversaries are hard." Amelia continued seriously while pullin her knees to her chest.

Mark cracked his neck and looked to the floor. "Mostly, yeah. Sleep isn't coming very...peacefully. That bad place in your brain takes over and it just..."

"Hits you hard." She finished, taking a sudden interest in her toes. "Like it doesn't want you to forget it."

"That it happened."

"And that no one could change it."

"No one can help you stop feeling like.."

"You're gross."

"They didn't care that you are a person."

"Unclean."

"An experiment."

They raised their eyes to meet each other's. Amelia sniffed and relaxed her posture. "I had a reason for coming up here, I swear. Wasn't supposed to be a weird, 'trauma buddies' session." She huffed a laugh.

Mark shrugged. These were types of things you don't want to talk about but sometimes just spit it out to anyone. "Who cares. We're all a bit messed up anyway."

"Yeah," She replied quietly before perking up. "But anyway, we are to kidnap you and have a total Perks of Being a Wallflower type deal while blasting David Bowie on our way to the student vs. teachers basketball game."

"Sounds fun."

It was.

Well, it was if you didn't mind Phil calling unnoticed fouls.

* * *

"Cut! Cut for a sliver of a minute." Mr. Hiddleston waved his arms and was almost apologetic for interrupting the Red and Black scene. He went over to Phillip and put a hand on his shoulder. The teen resisted trying to shake it off.

"Now Phil, you're doing a marvelous job. But Enjolas _lives_ for the revolution of France. He hates that a king is still on the throne. You're planning a revolt. But Marius here," Hiddleston gestured to Mark, sitting at the table in set for the pub. "All he is thinking about is some girl he glanced at in town this morning. You're best friend is basically throwing aside your whole cause for love, something which you do not believe in. Now Grantiare,"

He gestured to David, holding the fake whine bottle and wishing it was real. "he is encouraging Marius be a dopey lover. No offense Markus." The director held up a hand to the boy. "So try to act almost offended when Grantaire starts to get Marius to sing. Alright?" He patted Phil on the shoulder and returned to his chair when the red head nodded. "And, action."

The boys started the scene again, this time Phillip successfully managed to put all of his attitude into that one scoff Enjolas was to do when Grantaire got Marius singing. Turns out they all had quite good voices. Though he would never admit it, Phillip was pretty happy he joined this 'stupid depressing play'. Even if he's only in the second part and dies. The kid has just been feeling way better over the past two months, a little after Clint actually _talked_ to him.

"Amazing! That is perfect." Mr. Hiddleston clapped and got up from his chair, moving to the stage while the barricade boys filed out. "Can we move on to, Marius and Eponine going to find Cosette? Markus and Claire! Center stage please!"

The two glanced at each other before meeting in front of the director. Mark bit his lip nervously, the couple haven't even talked to each other in weeks, she probably thought him a freak. A cross breed of alien raised by people and just crippled and deformed. Maybe if he just stayed a bit longer that night, his mother knew he was fine, she'd be okay for another few minutes while Mark explained any of the questions Claire might have had. It was a load to drop on her anyway.

Claire just stood, acting like the whole night on the stage, where the teen told her everything he wasn't supposed to, didn't even happen. No one else knew about it, and no one in the room at this moment could tell that the girl was almost dying inside. Wanting to say something, anything about being a total bitch and purposely avoiding him because she knew it would be weird, like it was now. Or something about how no, she doesn't think anything less of him, it's amazing what he lives like.

Mr. Hiddleston coughed, pulling them out of their thoughts to see he was already back in his chair. "Guys, action."

Mark nodded quickly and went to his place. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, ready."

They went on with the scene, Phillip stood to the side of the stage. Arms crossed and leaning against one of the sets, David came up behind him, making the red head look up.

"They so have something for each other." The dark haired boy said with a smirk. He tipped the fake-wine bottle to his lips and took a large sip.

Phil huffed a laugh and nodded. "Yup, kid's been floating all the time lately." He turned to face David, raising an eyebrow. "You do realize that it's not wine, right? Just apple juice or something?"

David rubbed under his nose and swished the drink in the bottle. "Call it, getting into character." He shrugged. "You ever had any fine wine, Barton?"

Phillip turned away from him. "Nope."

"You need to live a little dude, you always seem so serious." The taller boy smirked behind the glass.

"Oh," Phil shrugged and sarcastically continued. "I guess having your mother get killed by a drunk douche kinda leaves a bad taste for alcohol in your mouth."

David was taken aback for a moment. He stayed silent for only a second before his tone was turning serious. "I'm sorry man, that was a dick thing to say."

"Oh, shut up." Phil gave him a mock glare before huffing an amused laugh when David was still sincere. "Relax, it's no big deal."

Suddenly an pair of arms wrapped around both their shoulders. "Sup barricaders?" Abby said, leaning her head in between theirs.

David smirked and crossed his arms. "We are observing the mating ritual of two awkward species in their natural habitat."

Phil scoffed while rolling his eyes. "Mean, but sadly true."

"They are cute together though." Abby squinted at Markus and Claire as they continued the scene on stage. "Like, Mark is tall and scrawny, and Claire is short and medium sized. You know, like, not fat but not grossly skinny either." She unwrapped her arms from them when Mr. Hiddleston was calling out Cosette's Que.

"They _are_ good together, aren't they?"

* * *

"You know David's totally in the closet, right?" Abby teased Phillip as they were helping clean up the stage after rehearsal.

Phil put down the fake tree to look at her doubtfully. "Not funny. And he isn't."

"Are you kidding me? Love is in the air mon ami." She teased in French. "And just look at him, a yellow fedora? with matching pants? Kid, a guy who's into the Va-jay-jay does not wear yellow skinny jeans." She gestured to the teen in question's outfit. "Plus I was practically grinding my boobs against him, no reaction!"

"I would appreciate it if you never said that again."

Abby huffed and smirked as she eyed the dark haired boy they were discussing. "Fine, if you don't believe me." She waved her hand and yelled across the stage to him. "Hey David! Get over here!"

The teen shrugged and did a little jog to meet them. "Yeah?"

"You gay or what?"

David stepped back. "Excuse me?"

Phil rolled his eyes. "Abby, c'mon." He crossed his arms and looked David. "But seriously dude, what's going on with you?"

David twirled his head, looking to see if anyone was watching. He ushered the two the come closer and whispered. "Look, if you _must_ know, and Im telling you this because I know you won't make a big deal about it, I...am interested. In the male population."

Abby shoved Phillip's shoulder with a smug smirk on her face. "See? I told you."

"You guys, discussed this?" David gave them a questioning look.

Abby huffed annoyingly. "Yes, we're weird. We guess people's sexuality and then ask about it I went over this months ago." She sighed quickly and shooed him away, they got the answer to their question, that was all that was needed from him. "Well, good to know, you can be on your way."

David gave her a cautious glance before slowly turning and walking back. "But David," Phil called out to him. "Beware the white girls wanting a gay best friend. Their deadly and vicious."

The other teen huffed a laugh and waved a small goodbye. A little ways over Mark was accidentally on purpose running into Claire.

"Listen," The dark haired boy started, holding out a hand to explain. "I'm sorry I just ran off that night, but my mom really was flipping out." He tried to smile innocently.

Claire only smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear. "Yeah, that's not really your fault. I was sort of being a bitch by avoiding you. It's like," she sighed and looked to the floor. "we were just having that moment, and your life and just you in general are so awesome. And, then there me. A boring normal person."

"Claire," Mark made her look him in the eye. "trust me, you are not boring. You dye your hair and wear roller blades and apparently have parent issues so you sleep in the catwalks. Who does that?"

She smirked and pushed his chest lightly. "You are quite the flirt, Markus Banner."

"It may seem like I have charm, but trust me I am very awkward if you get to know me." Mark laughed and rubbed his neck.

"Good, maybe my parents'll like that when I tell them Im dating you now." She smiled at him knowingly before grabbing his hand and making him take a piece of paper. She patted his shoulder and started to walk away, leaving Mark gaping and asking himself.

"What?"

* * *

"Pete! Can you get in here for a second?" The brunette heard his father call him from the living room. He shut his laptop on his desk and rolled out of he chair was sitting on, making his way to Tony.

"Yeah?" Peter greeted, leaning against the wall. Steve and Tony were on the couch, the captains arm wrapped around his husband's waist.

Steve smiled and held up a small package. "Guess who's New York University College of Arts and Science letter came."

"Nu uh," Pete immediately felt excited and terrified all at the same. He raced over and sat next to them on the couch, taking the parcel and testing it's weight. "It's thick, that means means acceptance right?"

Tony huffed a laugh. "Or maybe they couldn't fit the name of he school on one price of paper."

"Tony, shut it."

"Yeah dad, shut it." Abby smirked from where she appeared seemingly out of nowhere, standing behind the bar.

"What did you say young lady?" Steve scolded.

Abby put on an innocent expression. "Nothing."

Peter shook his package and drew everyone's attention. "My future is in this stupid thing, you know." He huffed and leaned back on the couch.

The slow trepidation started to rise in the teen because _oh god he was growing up and going to college and move out which means no more high school or Abby or pulling Phillip off the kids he's beating the shit out of or no more Amelia asking him weird questions his to make it awkward and after this summer he'll have to get a job and a house and maybe even family and maybe Gwen would be that family or maybe MJ and Harry might even still be friends with him and maybe he'll have kids or maybe adopt cuz he was adopted and he should help other kids that might be like him or Abby but him and Gwen's children would be so beautiful and-_

"Peter?" Steve pulled his son out of the fog. "Do you want to open it?"

"Um," Peter stuttered and picked up the parcel again. "Yeah, yeah. Give me a second." He breathed once before quickly ripping off the top. 'Like a bandaid' they always said. Pete found the first piece of paper. A simple letter he read aloud. "Dear Mr. Peter P. Rodgers, we are happy to inform you that you have been ACCEPTED INTO NYUCAS!" He stood up and excitedly shouted the last words.

"Yes!" Tony was shouting right along with him and didn't hesitate to wrap Peter into a tight hug, Steve joined and made it bone crushing. Abby bounced and clapped from behind the bar.

Steve let go of them and just looked. Looked at his _happy_ they all were. Peter was growing up, he hated to think of it but he would be _so_ smart and so good at whatever job came his way. It might be in SI, it not be, he didn't really think it mattered. And Abigail, she was sitting on her hands waiting for her letter. California Institute for the Arts was her first choice. _California_, way too far away in both Tony and Steve's opinion, but they weren't going to hold her back.

Their kids were actually growing up.

It was great, and it scared the hell out of the two men at the same time.

* * *

"Happy birthday!" Phillip woke up Amelia with a loud announcement and violently shaking her shoulders. He quickly reached the knife he knew was on the backside of her nightstand before Amy could and turned it on her. "You're a bit slow."

"Well excuse me if I haven't been in any life or death situations in a while." The blonde groaned and grumbled while sinking back into her bed, burying her head in the pillows and away from the sun. "Why don't you scare me half to death, that'd be a nice birthday present." She groaned sarcastically.

Phil smirked, put the knife back and spread his arms out. "C'mon Amy, it's like, eleven. You never sleep this long, always going for a run or something. I had to make sure you weren't dead." He glanced towards her windows before closing the curtains. The red head sat on the edge of her bed and teased lightly. "Dad made the pancakes you like."

"You run too, at night. like a weirdo." She teased and didn't let her brother see the spark of interest at the mention of food. "With little strawberries and blueberries in them?"

"Gross," the older sibling rolled his eyes. "but yeah. He also made things that _normal_ people eat." He lightly pushed her shoulder and got up, heading towards her door.

Amelia sat upright, messy blonde hair sticking up in some places. "Normal? What's that?"

"Have no idea." He laughed over his shoulder.

Amelia smirked to herself and flung her legs over the edge of the bed. Fifteen. Wasn't she supposed to be the baby? What ever happened to that? She didn't feel fifteen, she still felt young, the last of this chaotic batch of children. Maybe it was that she was only freshmen, mean to be a sophomore. Clint _did_ hold her back from first grade for reasons he would not say.

He always kept her close that year, especially after Ribner. She understood that, but Amelia was fairly certain it wasn't only that she was scared. The little six-year-old could deal with it, Clint really didn't have to take her out of school _completely_. Steve and Ton or Bruce and Darcy didn't have to basically adopt her when Clint wasn't home. He was so paranoid, if literally anyone they didn't know looked at her, he'd immediately pull her closer. It was for _something_. She knew it. Yeah, the whole thing totally freaked her out, it still does, but it _had_ to be for something bigger. Bigger than one guy.

Why the hell won't her father tell anyone anything?

"So many questions and answers that somehow seem wrong." The blonde quietly sang part of Abby's character's solo to herself.

Or even Phil.

Like how he'd been taking Zoloft.

Amelia guess she could understand that one, but why not mention something? Not leave her to find it in his bathroom when all she wanted was some toothpaste. Okay, so _maybe_ she had looked at bottle of pills when she _glanced_ in the cabinet behind the mirror. But Phil was happy, genuinely happy. That didn't just happen over night. Yes, she should've let it be, but why the hell wouldn't he let anyone know? It's not like it would be embarrassing. Amy was always sure that kid had issues, why not try to fix them?

"Amelia! Are you actually going toward up or do I need to sic Phil on you again?" She huffed a laugh when she heard Clint call for her. The blonde ran a hand through her hair and got to kitchen, the smell of pancakes calling out to her. Fifteen or not, pancakes are fucking good.

Clint smiled from where he was in front if the pancake fryer and opened an arm to invite her in. Amelia embraced him fully cuz _dammit sometimes you need to hug your dad because you never know when he won't come back._ The archer kissed her hair and spoke softly in Russian. "С Днем Рождения моя девушка." He let her go to sit at the table with Phil. (_Happy birthday my girl_)

"Благодаря папе." (_Thanks dad_)

Phil rolled his eyes and tapped his fork on the table. "яй, мы сказали, что наши приветствия в значимых русских, теперь мы можем пожалуйста, есть?" (_Yay, we said our greetings in meaningful Russian, can we please eat?_)

"Impatient much?" Amelia shot him an annoyed look.

"I have been up since _eight_ on a Sunday morning just to eat breakfast." When Phillip did decide to sleep, he would prefer it be for a _long_ time. Clint waking him up saying that it's time for breakfast - when it wasn't and he really just wanted help from the kid - did not have him very patient. "I am starving."

"I let you have some of the batter." Clint justified weakly. He set the plates of pancakes, bacon, sausage, and some waffles on the table. Phillip didn't hesitate to start piling food on his plate.

"Batter means nothing to me old man." The red head said in between bites.

Clint rolled his eyes and continued to cut his food in a proper manner. "I'm not old." He pressed. Amelia laughed.

"You keep telling yourself that dad."

The archer let out an exasperated sigh. Such polite and considerate children he has. "Forty three is not old." He blew out a breath when they snickered. "Maybe this old man will forget to give someone her present later then." He said smugly.

Amelia immediately turned innocent and put her head in her hands to look at her father. "Oh, I love you so much daddy, you don't look a day over thirty. You're such a handsome young man." Phillip made a series of fake coughs with something along the lines of 'kiss ass' in between them.

"Eat your food, Phillip Alexander." Clint said stoically as a warning for the insult.

Amy smirked and teased him. "Ooh, you got the middle name."

"Whatever." Phillip groaned and bit off another piece of bacon. "It's not like it was bad."

"Well, I don't like you two insulting each other." Clint told him simply. "One day it'll be just you guys, I don't want you to be distant."

"It was one little remark, we're not going to hate each other for the rest of our lives." Amelia pointed out, finishing the meal.

"I know, I know." Clint started to clean up some of the plates, passing them to Phil who passed them to Amy to be rinsed and in the dishwasher. "Hey Phil, what time does your play thing start next week?" The father asked.

"Oh," Phillip waved him off. "You don't have to go to that if you don't want to." He quickly pushed the rest of the plates into Amelia's arms and headed back to his room. "I'm going back to sleep, wake me when there's cake."

Clint was taken aback for a second. Phil loved working on that play, he'd come home humming some of the songs and Clint _knows_ that kid loves it too. He turned to Amelia. "Does he not want me come?"

"No," The blonde clarified. "He really wants you to come. But doesn't want to place the obligation on you or something."

Clint leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. "Why would he think that I wouldn't want to see him?"

"Dad," Amelia sighed like it was obvious. "Phil is Phil, and will always be Phil, even on the good drugs. And he will never let you go out of your way to do anything for him...willingly." She added the last word with a shrug. The blonde finished pipeline the dishes in the washer.

Clint nodded and ruffled her hair teasingly. "Then I'll go to see your fantastic lighting."

* * *

"Cake?" Darcy held up a plate of the purple-iced chocolate cake from where she was leaning against Bruce's lab doorway. "Clint made it himself." She added trying to sell it.

The scientist spun his chair around to face her and smiled at his wife. Hm, wife. It still sounded strange to him, even after fourteen years Bruce couldn't believe he was actually married to this amazing woman. He couldn't believe he was married at all, and had a child. Not even a child, Mark was almost an adult. Way too fast, everything was going. Bruce suddenly got up and wrapped his arms around Darcy. Taking in her oddly nice smell of coffee and lavender. "I love you so much." He mumbled in her hair.

"I love you too." She responded, slightly surprised. It wasn't a rare occurrence that they told each other those three words, but it usually wasn't because of food. "You're really glad I brought you cake than, eh?" She joked smiling and looked up to him, Bruce kissed her lips as a response.

"I just really love you, Darcy. We're like an old married couple." He said sweetly. She leaned her head against his chest. They started swaying on their feet.

"Like? Brucey, we are so those sweet old people who would live next door." This is Darcy counting forty-one and forty-four as 'old'. What ever happened to them, being those young, in love people? She actually _grew up_, it was like Darcy was raising her self along with Mark. "I want the baby years back." She murmured.

"The what?"

"The baby years. Like when we could put Mark to bed and read him children's books that I _swear_ the authors were on crack." Bruce chuckled and she hit his back. "I'm serious. Who the hell would talk to a tree, kill it, then sit on it's face when you're old? That guy was on acid throughout that whole book." She sighed. "But I just want the baby years, Peter and Abby are leaving only almost four months. Then Mark's gone, and he's even _liking_ some girl Brucey. And we're just old and alone in this stupid huge apartment."

"Do you not like the apartment Darcy?" Bruce asked humorously.

"No I love it here." She admitted with a laugh. "I raised my baby here."

Bruce looked down at her with a mock surprised expression. "_You_ raised _your_ baby here?"

"Yes. Finders keepers." She said smugly. "We make horrible jokes."

"Oh, so _now_ it's 'we'?"

"Of course, don't you know how this works Banner?" Darcy teased.

"I've come to learn Banner." Bruce retorted gleefully.

"Darcy Banner still sounds wrong." She shrugged and smiled.

"I know, Darce." Bruce huffed and agreed. Darcy would never let it slide that he wanted to take his name. "Still wouldn't blame you if you ran off Jensen Ackles." How he remembered their old joke was above the scientist.

"Ah, but Darcy Ackles would be even _worse_."

Markus pretended to have not heard the whole Kodak moment when he rapped gently on the door. "We're going out." He nodded over to the elevator.

The couple untangled themselves from each other and Bruce nodded. "Have fun."

"Don't get arrested." Darcy added.

Mark shrugged and held up a hand. "I actually can't promise that."

The two would only laugh when they hear that the kids got detention for building a barricade in the school.

* * *

"Dad! Hurry up we're going to be late!" Abigail shouted from where she was holding the elevator door open, waiting for Tony to drive the family to the musical. "We have to be half an hour early, we're already five minutes late!"

Peter smirked. "You're very good at channeling your inner, gentle Cosette Ab."

"Whatever stage hand." She rolled her eyes and glanced at her brother. Dressed in all black for camouflage while changing sets. "You look good in black, you should wear it more often."

"Thanks..?"

"Just saying, maybe Gwen'll like the punk look instead of that jacket you always wear." She winked at him.

"Gwen doesn't care what I wear and she shouldn't." Peter responded seriously. "I promised to keep her out of it."

"Pete, that was almost a year ago. You haven't even told anyone else, nor have you made any enemies or whatever." Abby turned to face him fully. She started to play with her hair, some of the fancy curls coming loose from the bun. "You still like her. I can see it."

"Are you a wizard or something?" Peter shook his head. "Seriously, you know everything. Phil and David, Mark and Claire, me and Gwen. Who's Amelia going to eventually end up with? You probably know."

"I never said Phil and David end up together, out loud at least." She smirked. "And Amy's going to become a quiet school teacher in Iowa and eventually marry a guy named Patrick."

"Wow," Peter nodded sarcastically. "Very specific. You know Claire and David are twins, right? That'd be weird if Phil and Mark each got together with one of them."

Abby smiled and look down to adjust her hair more. "Wouldn't that be cool if that actually happened though?"

"If what happened?" Tony and Steve finally appeared in the doorway.

"Nothing, let's go. We're late." Abby pushed the button to close the elevator doors and off they went.

* * *

"Why the hell are this many people here at a high school play?" Darcy grumbled as she and Bruce squeezed through the crowd to find a seat.

Bruce only chuckled and issued a lot of 'excuse us' and 'pardons' to other parents, and possibly a few recruiters from some colleges. He wasn't paying attention for a second and knocked into a blonde woman.

"I am so sorry." He held up a hand to apologize when she turned to face him. He was met with striking blue eyes that Bruce never thought he'd see again. "Betty?" He asked the woman cautiously.

She blinked and looked at him more before starting to gape. "Oh my god. Bruce Banner, can't believe it's you."

"Uh, yeah. It's..it's been a long time." The brunette stuttered and held out a hand to shake her's. "What-what are you doing here?" He asked, glancing around to make sure no one else, or her father, was here with her. That was one thing that wasn't needed tonight.

"My cousin's son and daughter are in the musical." She laughed awkwardly and pointed towards the stage. "Um, oh who do they play?" Betty pressed a hand to her head. "Yes! It's Eponine and Grantaire. Maybe you'll see them. I don't know, they're in the program."

"Oh," _OH_. Bruce remembers Mark going on about the whole story line and how _Eponine_ has some major scenes with Marius. And how he may, or may not be in to the girl playing her. Great. "That's good. Um, me and my wife were coming to see a friend of ours' son." The scientist waved to Darcy to come over by them, he wrapped an arm around her waist and turned back to Betty. "Betty, this is Darcy. My wife." He added quietly. "Darcy, this is one if my old colleges, Betty." He ducked his head close to her ear and continued gently. "Ross."

Darcy actually took a step back and looked to Bruce to see if he was serious. He nodded quietly, but showed no sign that they should take Mark out of here. "Ross." Darcy confirmed with herself and gave Betty a fake smile while shaking her hand. "Bruce has told me about you, once or twice. How's your father doing?" _'Yeah, you little cumslut how is daddy dick doing?'_ Darcy was basically screaming in her head.

Betty was surprised but nodded answered anyway. "He actually is retired. For about three years now, I think."

_'Three years my ass'._ The lights in the auditorium started to dim and signal the starting of the play. Bruce ushered Darcy back to the seats she found and waved goodbye to Betty.

The brunette woman instantly started spitting fire. "I can't believe she would _actually_ admit to ever knowing you or even have the nerve to act like nothing happened and that her own father is the cause of our son being _terrified_ half the time and-"

"Darcy, she doesn't even know." Bruce cut her off and grabbed her hand in a comforting manor. "I'm sure no one's here for Mark."

She sighed and put her head in her hands. "I don't like her being here, and I _really_ don't like Mark or even Phillip anywhere near those other kids."

He rubbed her back gently while pulling out his phone. "I'll tell Peter to stay by them, that Mark fell earlier today, okay? They won't panic, but they'll be together. Everything'll be just fine."

* * *

Abigail ignored when Phillip grumbled at her forcefully putting a palm to his forehead. His sweaty, burning hot forehead. "Oh, you are _not_ sick." She groaned, dragging him to sit down on a changing bench backstage.

"Of course I'm not sick." He protested when she started to fill a waterbottle and leaned back against the lockers. "I'm just tired."

"Yes, and I suppose you're tired from _swimming on the sun_." She scolded, handing him the water. "I knew you'd get _something_ by tonight. I swear to God you have the immune system of a homeless cat." Phil only looked up at her and reluctantly took a sip from the bottle. However he managed to only break out in disease tonight would be a mystery, but the kid did look miserable. Abby softened and ruffled his hair gently. "Just, sleep on the bench. You got an hour before Enjolas shows up, I'll wake you." She promised and left after making sure he laid down.

* * *

David, after being ordered to by Abby, made the mistake of trying to shake Phillip awake. He realized this when he found himself on the ground, Phil twisting his arm so far back that he thought it might break. It wasn't a thought provoked action for the red head, he only felt a touch and it was all instinct. He was naturally already aware that sleeping in an unprotected public area along with being sick and vulnerable = bad.

"Okay, okay, sorry. Let go." Phil blinked and realized there was no threat, he released David's arm and helped him up. "Well, someone's full of surprises."

"You really shouldn't touch me when I'm sleeping." Phil told him stoically, heading towards the stage.

"I figured." David crossed his arms and followed him. The dark haired boy noticed the sweat around his peer's neck. "You have like five more minutes before we go on, are you sure you don't want to sit-"

"I'm fine." Phillip insisted. "I've done more with worse."

David raised his eyebrows at how simply Phillip admitted it. "That's slightly terrifying."

The red head huffed. "I guess it is."

* * *

_"Do you hear the people sing?_  
_Singing the song of angry men._  
_It is the music of the people who,_  
_Will not be slaves again._  
_When the beating of your heart,_  
_Echoes the beating if the drums._  
_There is a life about to start_  
_When tomorrow comes."_

The entire cast of Les Miserables in that high school softly hummed the song when they went out to the stage and took a great bow. There was much applause and a standing ovation.

* * *

"Dad!" Amelia waved obnoxiously to Clint over the sea of students and parents trying to get to their cars. "Father!" She grabbed her brother's hand to squeeze though the people and meet the archer.

Clint greeted them happily. "You guys did awesome! The lighting though, whew, they need to fire that kid." He gently pushed Amy's shoulder as he joked. Clint looked to Phillip, tired but happy. _Really_ happy. "How you feeling kid?"

"You know, I'm about to pass out, but actually pretty good."

"Good." Clint smiled and wrapped and arm around each of them. "Let's go home."

And as Christopher Bates watched from afar, he knew. No matter how short the exchange was, he knew that Clint Barton would never lay a hand on his children.

* * *

**_Hooray! so lots o' stuff happened, and I will continue with David and Claire and what happens with them and their 'relations' to a certain person..._**

**_I don't think Betty had a cousin, but oh well. I made an alien baby and passed him off as human so...I'm not a fan of logic and reasoning._**

**_I would love love LOVE reviews cuz I actually worked hard on this and stuff!_**


	24. Some Midnight Thoughts

_**Little babies are my weakness! Just a little S/O to 26wolfhawke for reviewing like EVERY chapter. **_

_**Mark is three months old,**_

* * *

"Shhhh, it's okay Markus." Bruce softly hummed and bounced the crying, three month old baby. It seemed like Mark almost never slept. He was always hungry or fussy but loved to held and rocked and just to have someone talking. Bruce had never had to hold a baby for more than maybe a minute, when he helped deliver some in Calcutta. Those babies were always beautiful, and Bruce had no problem immediately handing them off to their mothers. Now he had his own beautiful little boy and it actually felt right to be holding him. "Daddy's here." The brunette cooed.

His thoughts strayed, to his father oddly. Bruce wondered if Brian Banner ever held him when he was young. Wondered if there ever was a time where Brian would touch Bruce without the intent of hurting him, wondered if his mother would've been safe I he'd never been born. The scientist today probably wouldn't be able to stand himself if he ever hit Darcy. "I won't ever hurt you." He promised to the little bundle in his arms. "And if I think about it for a second, if I even raise a hand to you, leave. Take your mommy and leave me, okay?" He smiled sadly. "Now matter what I say. You leave."

Bruce sighed and started to pace around the nursery, at least Mark was settling down. He hoped that day would never come, where he lost it like his father did. Where he'd drink and drink and drink until he doesn't even see his family as his family. Not that the other Avengers would ever let that happen. Not that Bruce /himself would ever let that happen. He almost never had a drop of alcohol, maybe only half a bottle when Tony forced him to. It still worried him anyway.

By this time, Markus was slowly drifting off. Bruce sat by the windowsill and let the soft glow of the moon shine on his baby's face. He still couldn't believe where him and Darcy found the little boy, what a world they live in, nowadays. He just..couldn't believe that someone would be as cold hearted as to let their son die in some alleyway, that they'd be that full of themselves that they couldn't even accept that he wasn't perfect, that they didn't even bother with giving him a chance, even with someone else. Bruce would give anything for him and Darcy to have their own child, and these people would literally just throw one away?

He knows that Darcy loves Mark with all her heart and he did too. But there was always something about the way Clint and Natasha saw Phillip that just had Bruce longing for his own. Maybe they could try, just once, and maybe he'll be all wrong and nothing bad will happen. But no, that's stupid and he's being selfish. Darcy would be heartbroken if anything happened and it might even hurt her physically. Bruce couldn't do that to them. And what was he even saying, Markus was perfect, he was theirs, and he already made that promise to him and himself to be a better father than his was. Now that was a promise he would not break.

"Knock knock." A quiet voice sounded from the doorway. Bruce turned his head to find a certain red head carrying a little bundle in her arm and smiled at them.

"Hey," he greeted softly. "And, what brings you around here?"

Natasha sighed and shifted Phillip so his face could see the two by the window. "It seems out boys here are in sync, so I was guessing they miss each other." She smiled and stepped closer to them. "Or it's just two in the morning and I'll try anything to get him to sleep." The woman looked natural. Sweat pants a too-big T-shirt for pajamas, it was like a privilege to see her so relaxed. Normally it was only when she was exhausted did anyone but Clint see her like this.

Bruce chuckled. "I know the feeling." He stood and tucked Mark in one arm to hover over Phillip. "Why're you keeping mommy up this time?"

"Oh, he just loves food. And sadly, like his father, once he's up he is _up_."

Bruce looked up at her, a small hint of concern in his eyes. "Has he been sleeping bad lately? Clint, I mean." He added quickly after. "You know, I probably have some sleeping pills or something."

"Have you ever known Clint to be cooperative with sleeping drugs Doctor?" And just like that, the professional walls were up. Natasha and Clint had a strong trust going, her telling Bruce anything that Clint might have a sliver of him not wanting to know, would be crossing the line ten different ways. So she didn't let him know anything.

"I suppose not." Bruce said, not offended at all by the secrecy. Their business was their business. He held Mark out so he would see Phil and he smiled when the two boys did. "Seems like they did miss each other."

"Why do so get a feeling they'll be much trouble when they're older?" Natasha smirked and rocked her son.

"Mother's instinct?"

"Possibly." She huffed a laugh and started to retreat for the door. "Goodnight, Bruce."

He nodded his head. "Goodnight, Natasha."

The red headed mother silently slipped away. Bruce put Mark back in his crib and started towards his bedroom. He crawled underneath the blankets and felt Darcy running a hand through his hair. The brunette flipped over and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Still cheating on me Doctor Banner?" Darcy teased sleepily.

He chuckled and hurried his head into her back. "Jensen Ackles is still an option."

She smiled and threaded her fingers with his.

"I don't think so."

* * *

_**D'awwww some cute little baby fluff :) **_

_**Short, but meaningful. I'm working something with Phil (cuz for some reason I cant sop writing him) and possibly another angsty one with Amy.**_

_***Spongebob Krusty Krab Pizza Song Voice* I LOOOOVVE REVIEWS**_


	25. We Survive on Stubbornness and Nurses

**_So sorry for the once again late update..._**

**_For a rather upset guest that reviewed a few days ago.._**

**_Sorry, but Natasha's gone. I'll admit it's out of character, but this whole thing is just me having a little fun. So, sorry you don't like this? But I won't change a drastic point in the story for one angry reviewer, who didn't even bother to log in to complain._**

**_Anyway, think of this as a sequel to chapter 21, where I get to hurt Phillip a little more. Like I don't do that all the time. _**

**_Still fourteen._**

* * *

He didn't know how to describe it, exactly. All Phillip knew is that he was already sick for almost three days, _again_, and vaguely that Steve was with him for something, but it usually doesn't cause him to wake up and have his chest on _fire_. Like, 'holy shit I can barely breathe' on fire. It felt like something was crushing him, even on his side, it just _hurt_ and would barely let him get any of the oxygen that his lungs were screaming for, he coughed and coughing made it worse and just breathing in general made it worse. Only when he sat up in his bed could the pain lessen, even if the simple motion caused his head to pound furiously. And Phil was cold, like shivering cold, which was weird cuz he could feel the heat on his skin and it felt like something was coming out out of his ear that was pounding furiously and he felt like throwing up and everything just _hurt_.

"Dad!" He remembered that screaming only made everything even more terrible. Phillip didn't remember if Clint was even home but he needed _someone_. The red head faintly heard his door open and a pair of hands grab his wrist and his arm, they pulled away for a second before returning and started to usher him to come down to the floor.

"Jesus kid, you're hot." Steve huffed and made sure Phil didn't fall flat on his face when he came down from the ladder. The soldier kept his hands on him for balance, he didn't think that Phillip even knew his eyes were closed and he had a hand tightly pressing against his ear. "Amelia!" He yelled for his niece and gently ran a soothing hand down Phillip's back when he flinched.

Amelia came in grumbling in the doorway. "Steeve, it's three in the morning what-" She stopped herself when her eyes looked to Phillip. Gasping in breaths and clearly about to collapse in pain.

"To the car." Steve ordered simply, keeping his hands on Phil and guiding him out the door and to the elevator, Amelia right behind them. The captain had Phillip sit down and took his hand away from his ear. He faintly noticed the thick yellowish substance coating his nephew's fingers. "Hey bud, look at me." He said softly, putting a gentle hand on the back of his neck. "What's wrong?"

With much hesitance, and trying to ignore the pounding that the light from the elevator caused, the teen let his eyes open but trained them to the floor. He sucked in a large breath before sputtering. "I can't...can barely breathe..._hurts._" Phillip looked up at his uncle and started coughing again, feeling like hundreds of razors decided to have a bouncy castle party in his throat. The red head didn't even want to know what exactly he was hacking up. Steve squeezed his neck comfortingly and pulled him up when the doors opened again.

"It's alright kid," He soothed and had the two pile into the car. Amelia wordlessly let Phil rest his head in her lap, running a hand softly through his hair. Steve took a second to draw in a breath because no, there was no need to panic. Phil was sick all the time, it just happens to be worse tonight. He had to face that yeah, something might be very wrong, Steve didn't think Clint could take on cancer along with everything else. An irrational fear he'd always had, but if that was in their cards they'll deal with it, like everything else.

Phillip kept his eyes closed the whole ride to the hospital, nothing made the pounding in his head any better. His breathing was still shallow and he was still _freezing_ even thought Steve told him otherwise. A large wave of nausea had him curling into his stomach when they hit a pot hole. Undoubtedly his uncle was breaking more than a few traffic laws if they were going this fast in the city. He had to cover his mouth with his hand when they hit another bump because _he will not throw upon this car_.

Phil supposed passing out was the next best thing.

* * *

Clint dropped everything when Steve called him in the middle of nowhere and told him what happened.

And it was always the machines that got to the archer.

Like, non-living things were made to keep living things, living. Some forced you to keep breathing, some made sure your heart didn't give out, there were some which keep your temperature steady, some can see inside of you. Clint himself was used to most of the life-saving stuff, but never will be used to seeing one of the kids hooked up to one.

Admittedly, it was just an oxygen mask and an IV, the whole thing just reminded the archer of when Phil was four. When he almost lost him. So, the kid's immune system was pretty weak, that still doesn't give the universe or whoever the right to scare his family half to death every time he coughed.

But anyhow, so far for the past few hours it was just run of the mill Lobar Pneumonia, left lung. That sure went down well when Phil found out, woke up briefly only a few hours after they got him situated in a room. He said it might've been from the flu that's going around in the high school. And of course since Phil got he had to make so much more dramatic. Clint was actually _so _relieved. Pneumonia was fine, he could deal with pneumonia, they have before. It'd be a rough week, it could get worse, but it was treatable.

Steady fever of 103, shallow breathing, a small amount of blood in mucus, on and off chills, and chest pain. A lot of chest pain, according to Phillip. Caused by inflammation in his lung, they called that pleurisy in doctor language. The teen was also exhausted and just weak in general, he could barely lift his head up the first few times he woke up. Doc's put him on antibiotics, but nothing was kicking in quite yet. Clint was assured many times by the nurses that it took at least fifteen hours, still worried him though. The little amount of food Phil ate only had him throwing it up again.

It was getting frustrating.

Cue the scratchy intravenous tube inserted into his arm.

They had Phillip's bed inclined so he can sit up, take some of the pressure off his chest. He could breathe a tiny bit better, but Clint insisted on him keeping the oxygen mask on for a while. They drained his ears, fever caused a rupture in the ear drum and it was flooding with pus. A clot of mucus and pus was apparently clogging up one of his lungs. He hacked up some of that every now and then, along with some blood. And that was just a_ joy_ for his chest. Still was cold, and hot at the same time. Fevers are just weird that way.

Phil kept fading in and out of consciousness. Amelia left, probably for school. It was...Tuesday? Phil went with Tuesday. Ha, she had to go to school, that was really just the one thing he could think of as a positive, 'cept for all the late work that Mark would undoubtedly make him do. He saw Clint come in the room one time, exhausted and worried and probably just scrubbed the mission he was on.

He was just so _tired_ he barely even recognized Fury when he walked in. And a large dark man covered in leather and eye patch was sort of hard to miss. He let his eyes fall closed and settled on listening.

"Can I safely assume you're bailing on the rest of your mission in our friendly neighbor North Korea?"

"Sir, I will make it up as soon as I can."

There a pause and a sigh, some shuffling. "Screw it Barton, it's surveillance, I'll get some other punk ass rookie to deal with it. You," More shuffling, nearer to Phillip. "Deal with him."

There probably should have been some of the normal heat in his tone, but Phil couldn't detect it. Possibly, maybe it was some sort of sympathy? Contrary to popular belief, Fury is not a heartless, professional old man. He liked Clint, he was a good agent, and knew how devastated he was when Natasha died. There sure were times where Fury would've gladly cut him loose, but like he said, Clint was a good agent, and a good man. Nick saw that, and respected it. Again, he wasn't a heartless professional, and would not tear a good man away from his boy.

"Thank you, sir."

"And cut it with all the 'sirs', making me feel old."

"Yes, sir." Phil could practically _hear_ the smirk in his father's voice. There a few footsteps and an opening and closing door, Phillip heard his father sink down on to the seats he knew were next to the bed. He sighed heavily and Phil finally forced his eyes to open, seeing him with his head in his hands.

Cue unnecessary guilt.

Phillip sighed a cleared his throat, ignoring the urge to cough more after. "I'm gonna be okay, dad." The teen assured him, voice being slightly muffled by the mask still around his head. Which was probably a good thing. Considering the way he sounded like a eighty year old, two pack a day smoker. "You should've gone."

Clint turned his head towards him. There was this flash of distress in his eyes for only a second before he blinked it away and waved his son off. "And miss all this fun?" The archer joked. "Not for the world, kid." He turned in his seat to be facing away from Phil and to be leaning back on the bed. "Don't worry about it, just surveillance. Would've been boring anyway."

The red head smiled and weakly adjusted the tube coming out of his arm. "And everyone else?"

"Don't mess with that." Clint scolded and flicked his hand away, ignoring the soft complaint of 'it itches'. His tone turned back to regular nonchalantness it usually is. "They stopped by a few hours ago when you were asleep. Amy had to leave and get her uniform."

"Oh, Sebastian Elementary uniforms." Phillip huffed and remembered the dress code for grades 1-8 before the high school banned them.

"Yes, all you guys show a mutual hatred for them." Clint chucked. "I'm sure they'll be back to bother you later."

He craned his neck to only see Phil drifting off again. A sudden chill wracked his body, successfully waking him up to start hacking up mucus. The teen pulled the mask away from his face to hang around his neck while the wet, raspy coughs kept coming. His sore chest constricted tightly and started to turn into actual pain again while his stomach had a temper tantrum. He accepted the bucket Clint retrieved for him without his noticing and promptly threw up the little he had left in his stomach. With a groan Phil flopped back on to the inclined mattress.

"I hate pneumonia." He croaked tiredly before adjusting the oxygen mask back over his mouth and nose. Clint put the bucket on the table to be washed later and sat on the foot of the bed.

"Pneumonia seems to love you though." Clint sighed, grabbing another blanket out from under the bed and tossing it over Phillip's torso. He wouldn't tell him, but the kid had no skill in hiding that he was cold, still weird cuz he was still skin hot. Phil huffed a raspy laugh before letting his head drop and his eyes close. Clint gently patted his leg before returning to the position he had earlier on the chairs, hoping to maybe get some sleep himself.

* * *

"So is your nurse nice?" Abby asked nonchalantly, playing with Phil's toes from where she sat on his bed. Pete was slumped in a chair near them and Mark was next to the bed with Amelia (now successfully free of any school uniform). She had to keep talking, otherwise Phillip would feel like it's a pity party and she knows how much he hates the kid gloves treatment. Add the fact that Phil isn't the strongest right now and he'll get snippy real quick. It didn't help that his pride had him taking off the oxygen mask when his family got there. As much as Phil would deny it, it had really helped.

"She's fine." Phillip shrugged in the same manner, taking in shallow breaths.

Mark picked up the oxygen mask and held it out near Phil. "Are you sure don't need this? You seem a little air-deprived." The dark haired boy, however, didn't care about his brother's pride. He was having trouble breathing and damn him if he didn't do something. It was almost like payback for all the times Phillip looked out for him.

The red head weakly waved him off and shook his head. "I'm fine."

Abby steered the conversation. She smirked and separated his big toe from his middle one. "I'm gonna get you Elizabeth anyway. She loved us."

"She loved you." Peter pointed out simply. "You were cooperative and polite. Phillip, you're...you." He shrugged sympathetically.

Phil glared but didn't say anything about it. He turned back to Abby. "You don't have to get me anything Abby. She's had enough of me last time we were here. And doesn't she only works in the ER?"

The blonde smirked. "You know I will anyway, so don't even try to get out of it. None of your stubbornness will ever match the-"

Abigail cut herself off and resisted the urge to flinch when Phillip started coughing. It was awful and wet and sounded like it hurt, she didn't miss the way Phil held his chest and started to tense up in pain. He stopped coughing suddenly and curled into his stomach, his breaths coming out in shallow sputters. Amelia was immediately next to him on the bed, facing his back with a gentle hand in his shoulder while Mark handed the red head the oxygen mask. He took it without complaint this time and gasped in the air.

Phil was still breathing labored when Peter stood up and started towards the door. "I'm gonna find a nurse." Phillip sat up, trying to ignore the tightening in his chest, and was ready to object when Peter sent him a glare the younger teen didn't know he was capable of. "You're gonna lay your ass back down without a word. You can barely breathe right now, so don't give me any shit and I'm not going to _let_ you suffocate just cuz you're too stubborn to ask for help dammit."

The other kids were taken aback by the sudden, harsh words, Peter swallowed and quickly hurried out of the room, he wouldn't admit it, but the older boy felt a bit overprotective over Phillip ever since the accident a few months ago. Phil blinked in surprise, but followed the demands and laid back down. He hated to admit his chest lightened, even if the difficulty to breathe didn't. Amelia kept gentle running his shoulder and bicep, Mark was hovering and Abby had a hand on shin for some measure of comfort. Somehow, it actually helped.

All was for nothing when his head instantly started to feel like daggers were protruding from his brain. Phil lurched forward and grabbed his head in his hands, letting out a shout before successfully losing consciousness.

* * *

Tony eventually tracked Clint down to the roof, standing feet apart and hands behind his back, facing the skyline if the city. It'd only been an hour since they had to put Phillip on a ventilator, since they found out his lung was filling with pus and had to drain them with a tube in his chest. No family in the room for at least five more hours, the archer nodded slowly and immediately got up and walked away from the rest of the family.

"They never had to put him on a vent before." Tony had to admit he was still surprised when Clint knew he was there without even turning around.

"What?" The billionaire asked, looking around.

The blonde's tone turned harder and Tony saw his fists clench. "Nothing's had to breathe for my kid before, Stark."

"Oh, cut the bullshit." Tony rolled his eyes and stepped towards him. "He's fine, the vent's for reassurance, his lungs are clear, they put him on meds. So quit it with the drama." The genius sighed and softened when he saw Clint shake his head. "Look, I get it. Your kid's almost dying, I've done this before. It sucks ass, alright? You can't do anything to help 'em so you have to suck it up and wait to see if it's better or worse. You, Barton, are waiting, but for the wrong thing."

"And what should I be waiting for then?" Clint spun around and threw his hands up in exasperation. "For Phillip to be just _dandy_? For the medication to actually _work_ this time because it probably won't." He sighed deeply and ran his hands through his hair. Tony just stood silently, listening. "Do you realize how many times doctors _said_ he'd be okay? How close he actually was last time? How out of it? Running a fever of a 108 and spiking at 109 makes anyone think they're on a cruise with Morgan Freeman, you wanna know what the dying four year old saw?"

Tony found that he probably didn't.

"He saw Coulson, Tony. He didn't even know _who_ Coulson was, I hadn't told him. But the kid kept telling me he saw 'one of your friends, daddy. He says he's Phil too. He's here to help me'. Like a fucking angel or something."

Both men went to sit on the ledge of the roof.

"What's stopping that, from happening again?"

* * *

"No talking, don't touch it and try not to swallow too much, alright?"

Elizabeth gave Phil a gentle smile and pat his leg. Abby actually _did_ request Elizabeth for Phillip's nurse. Partly because she just wanted to see the woman again, but mostly, not that she'd tell anyone, because she knew that the lady would take care of him. The teenager in question did like Elizabeth, it's just that along with the IV and intravenous, a tube in his throat breathing for him and another making side he doesn't choke on his spit and _another_ in his chest occasionally pumping out disgusting yellowish-shit sort of pissed him off. So forgive him if he didn't really acknowledge the woman's politeness.

She smirked at him anyway and shuffled towards the door. "Only fifteen hours honey, I'll let your daddy in for now."

Moments later the blonde man came rushing in the door, turning back so Phillip couldn't see him only for a moment to swallow. Clint turned back with a small smile and sat down next to the bed. "Hey kid." He said roughly. Phillip immediately was signing back to him.

_You look burnt out._

"All good things to those with insomnia." Clint huffed humorously. "You've been sleeping for most of the day, I'm not letting you stay up all night on your own. And always a loophole with you, isn't it?"

_Nothing can silence me._ Phillip gave him a triumphant smirk. _What time is it?_

The archer glanced at his watch. "Almost eleven. Everyone else dispersed a few hours ago, has school tomorrow. Does your chest still hurt?" He questioned, gesturing to the tube.

_Can't really feel it. _Phillip shrugged and pointed to the tube in his neck. _This, makes me feel like gagging. I want to rip it out._

"_Don't_." Clint pressed, taking his hand away. "They'll cuff you to the bed. Not fun." He spoke from experience. "Im surprised you're not so drugged up you can barely sign. Is the vent going fast enough? Like, do you need more air?"

_No,_ Phillip creased his eyebrows. _Just hate all these tubes in me._

"Yeah," He sighed and leaned back in the hard plastic chair. "I suppose five is a lot." Clint smirked and lightly slapped Phil's arm. "My record's six though."

The red gave him a lopsided grin. _No way._

"Yep." The assassin put his feet up on the bed and started to count his fingers. "Intravenous, blood transfusion, IV, vent, some shit in my nose, and another in my stomach." He took one of Phillip's hands, gently rubbing his thumb against his palm. Clint yawned while rested his head against the bed. "Admittedly, I was out for most of the time I had em, but it still sucks."

Phillip squeezed his hand right back. _You should really sleep, dad._ He signed.

He'd deny it later, but Clint was _exhausted_. Hence why he was slowly letting his eyes close. "Well...what I should do...is very different..from...what I will." The blonde let out a puff of air before quickly slipping into dream land.

* * *

The archer flinched awake to Elizabeth opening the door.

"Good morning, Mr. Barton." She greeted sweetly, unaware of the blonde uncurling his fist from the blade hidden in his pants. "Well, sort of morning, I should say."

Clint groaned and cracked his neck while untangling his hand from Phil's and stretched out his muscles, feeling the satisfying pull and relaxed. He cracked his spine, apparently sleeping sitting up in a hard chair screwed with your back. "What time is it?" He asked, looking to Phillip, who fell asleep a few hours after him.

"'Bout three thirty in the morning." Elizabeth supplied, checking the teen's temperature and nodding to herself. "104.7. Looks like his fever's spiking finally. Hopefully it'll break by the morning."

Clint blinked in sudden awareness. "Is he okay right now?"

"Oh, of course Mr. Barton, just prepare for the sweat." She chuckled and tossed him a towel.

He easily caught it and set the towel on the table next to him. "My favorite part." He murmured.

Elizabeth smiled and sauntered towards the door. She stopped for a moment before turning back to Clint. "You're a good daddy, Mr. Barton." She mused.

Clint was only slightly surprised at the sudden proclamation. His eyes flickered to her, then back to Phil and he let out a sigh, resting his head back against the bed. "I'm trying to be."

* * *

Elizabeth ignored the squelching noise when she had to quickly slide out the ventilator from Phillip's neck, his chest already tube-and-pus-free. The teenager sputtered for a few seconds before gasping, then breathing back to normal. She didn't take notice to Clint's quiet sigh of relief from where he was standing arms crossed next to them.

"See?" She said soothingly. "Easy as that. Now that anything hurt too bad? Can you get air easily?" The nurse listed the routine questions while cleaning everything up.

Phillip swallowed and coughed before rubbing the front of his neck. "Um, no. Nothing really bad." He answered quietly, voice coming out rough.

"Good," Elizabeth scribbled it down on a chart and looked up to Clint. "Throat'll be sore for a few days, that's normal. Let's have him try to eat something, if all goes well you guys'll be outta here by the afternoon." She smiled and gave them a curt nod before leaving.

Clint turned on his heel to face Phillip. "Feel okay?"

"Yeah," The red head answered. "Better than before, at least."

"Good." The archer flashed a smile and ran his fingers once through Phil's hair. He smirked evilly and reached for a pudding cup on the table. Clint sat down and jiggled the cup in his fingers. "Time for the fun part."

Phillip cringed and Clint inclined his bed to sit up. "I'd really rather _not_ throw up anymore."

"C'mon." Clint urged and shoved the pudding cup in his hand. "Abigail's party thing is two days away, you want the excuse of 'I kept throwing up' for her not to be pissed at you?" Phillip had no intention of eating, and Clint waited. Staring at him. "I hope you realize that I'm not leaving until you eat the pudding."

Phillip huffed and glanced under his breath, hesitantly peeling the top off of the pudding cup. He swallowed a slowly spooned the pudding into his mouth. Took him almost twenty minutes to finish one cup, but hours later, it didn't come back up.

They took this as a win.

* * *

Oh, me and my awful endings.

So I actually did a bit of research on pneumonia, so hopefully that was accurate..

Reviews make me smile! :)


	26. Dying

Hello, followers!

This isn't a chapter. Just a really super short little thing that I wanted to throw out there.

Some time in the teenage years. It doesn't really matter.

* * *

"Amy!" Phillip shouted tiredly through the apartment. "I'm bored! If I don't do something I'm going to die soon."

"Are you five?" Amelia sighed and continued scratching through stupid homework for one class or another.

"No, I'm bored." Phillip huffed. He smirked and leaned heavily against his sister on the barstool. "I'm growing weak."

Amelia stumbled off of the stool under his weight and struggled to keep standing. "Phil! No you're not, get off of me."

"I'm slowly dying." He groaned again. "Lights fading, darkness growing." He wrapped his arms around her neck like she was giving him some sort of piggy-back ride.

"Can you not?" Amelia begged and sank to her knees. Phil shifted his full weight to rest on her back. "Phillip!" The blonde whined and collapsed on the floor, her brother on top of her.

"I'm dead." He whispered dramatically.

Amelia huffed.

* * *

So, that.

But uh, if you want you can review for that chapter change, this little small thing. I missed you guys. Even if I've never talked to any of you. We're all in this together. No I did not intentionally quote High School Musical. But thanks for reading, and literally, tell me if you hate someone, or love someone, or hate the way I write someone, or even if you love it. I like feed back, even if it's bad feedback. Correct me on my many mistakes that I'm too lazy to change unless someone wants me to. Yeah.


	27. Moving On

_**Okay, I'm sorry. I said I was gonna post the sequel to Les Mis, but I lied. This idea came to me, and I just ran with it. So here.**_

_**Phil's 21. A week after the funeral and a little over a month since he had to drop Shield to take care of Clint.**_

* * *

Phillip _hated_ seeing how little his father had. He hated how most things that he did keep were probably important to him.

Maybe it was just because cleaning out your dead father's things from your old house tends to be a terrible necessity.

It was easy to clean out the clothes in Clint's closet, he didn't have too much and he wasn't the sort of man who had a favorite treasured shirt anyway. Phil put those in the charity pile. The rest were mostly books. Clint did love to read, he used to read aloud to Phillip and Amelia. That's probably what got the girl hooked on fandoms. Clint had old versions of everything, Tolkien, Rowling, Green, Hugo, Stevenson, Carroll, King. Phil knew Amy loved them as much as the archer did. He put those in the pile he was sending to her.

Phillip came across a neat little box along the back wall of Clint's closet. The red head was hesitant to open it, Clint rarely put anything away in an actual box, and these must mean something to him. Eventually Phil ended up find the little latch to open it. Inside were only three things.

A picture, an _old_ picture. Clint must have only been twelve, at most. It was him and a bunch if other people, weird looking people, that'd you see in a carnival or something. That may be what it was, they _were_ all in from of a tent. Clint was in the middle of these adults with a bow in his hand, leaning on it like it was a cane and a smile on his face. Something clicked in Phillip's mind. Something like 'wow, all those stories about him running off and joining a circus were true'. He put the photo back in the box, it was definitely to the 'keep' pile.

Another thing was a deck of cards. Not even a deck, maybe seven, eight...trading cards? These were old too, bent with a dried stain of red something, it looked like someone tried to clean it off. Faded images of '_holy shit Steve's Captain America trading cards'_ were printed on both sides, Steve's sloppy signature across every one of them. Phillip made out a little message on one of the cards, something like '_sorry you didn't see me sign these in person, Coulson'._

"Huh," Phillip let out a small huff of amazement. These were _the_ cards, the ones Clint told him the story about. Not necessarily the story about the cards, more like the story of this great man who owned them. A great man who died to help stall the invasion that the Avengers would've been ready for if he hadn't. A great man named Phil Coulson, Phillip _Barton's_ namesake. These were definitely being kept.

The twenty one year old didn't even hesitate to toss the dog tags with 'Agent Natasha Romanoff' neatly engraved along the plate into the same pile.

* * *

Phil was flipping through some old files. Nothing important, old cases, old reports. Most of them were throwaways. The little black leather bound book with everything written in sloppy Russian caught his attention. The red head was deciphering the first three words when he noticed the silent man step into the room.

"Director." Phillip immediately stood to attention, linking his fingers behind his back and spreading his feet apart.

Fury nodded a greeting and stepped further into his old agent's room. "Cut the formalities kid. The day you call me by my title in your own home is the day I should be very worried." He lightly placed a hand on the wood post on Clint's old bed and faced away from the operative."Do you remember the first time we met, Agent Barton?" Fury asked quietly.

Phil normally would not let Fury see the hint of surprise in his expression, but lately he hasn't cared who saw what of him. "Yes, sir." He responded, not even attempting to push his buttons and purposely leave out the 'sir'.

"How old were you back then? Nine? Ten?" Fury turned slightly to let the other man see his raised eyebrow.

"Eight years old, sir."

The older man nodded at the confirmation. He paused for a few seconds before smirking. Remembering a small boy not-so-quietly sitting on a bench in the training room.

* * *

_ Fury leaned over the railing and pointed his eye to watch Clint, who sighed and pointed to a bench, ignoring the 'really?' look he was getting from his son. "Just sit here okay? Don't talk to anyone, don't let anyone touch you, and don't move, alright? I'll be back in ten minutes minutes."_

_ Phillip huffed and sat on the bench, watching Clint walk into an office at the side of the training room. The agents in the room ignored him, at least they knew better than to mess with the mysterious 'hawkeye's son._

_ The small boy looked around, watching some agents spar on a mat near him. Even at eight he knew they were doing almost everything wrong. The man on the left, Nick knew it was Carson, couldn't even keep his hands up, practically letting Collins land hit after hit. The other agent was predictable, his eyes looking right where he was going to strike. Not to mention left guy had the reflexes of a turtle. Eventually agent on the right pinned his sparring partner, leaving the man to grumble a quiet 'son of a bitch' while passing Phillip on the bench._

_ "Maybe you would win next time if you grew a pair and landed a hit." Fury couldn't help but smirk when the boy started calling out Agent Carson's mistakes._

_ Carson, apparently, didn't appreciate it. He took a threatening step towards Phil and spat at him. "What'd you say kid?"_

_ "I__** said**__ something that might save your ass in the field." Phillip sassed right back to him, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall._

_ "And what would some little prick's failed abortion know anything about-"_

_ "That will be all, Agent Carson." Fury suddenly was behind the agent, who quickly turned around to face a glare that do the term 'if looks could kill' some justice. The agent stumbled over his own feet to stand at attention at the director. "If you wish to spend your time insulting children I believe you should leave before a certain operative sees, and I am suddenly facing the other way."_

_ Carson pursed his lips and stomped off. Phillip smirked triumphantly while Fury spoke again._

_ "You're Barton's child?" He asked nonchalantly._

_ "Yep." Phil answered, popping the P._

_ "And where, exactly, is he now?" Fury raised an eyebrow._

_ "I don't know." Phillip shrugged and looked up to the director. "He wanted to talk to a hill."_

_ "A hill?" The older man questioned._

_ "Yep."_

_Fury crossed his arms and scuffed his heel on the floor. "Did he by any chance say __**Agent**__ Hill?"_

_ "Maybe." The boy mimicked his position and sat up straight. "Why do you wanna know?" He challenged._

_ "Because he works for me." Fury leaned down to face Phillip and sent him a mild glare. He had to admit that it surprised him when the kid sent one right back to him._

_ "Well he needs a new job. If he has to put up with a boss who can't keep his nose out of things."_

_ "Phillip." A stern voice called from the side. The two turned to face Clint, striding towards them with an apology half out of his mouth. Fury cut him off before he had the chance._

_ "I'll look past this as long as you never leave other child on this base again, Barton."_

_ Clint nodded once. "Yes, sir." He flicked his fingers towards the door as a sign for Phillip to follow him. The boy silently slipped down from the bench and followed the archer. But not, however, before whipping his head around to stick his tongue out at the director._

* * *

Fury smirked to himself. "Yeah, you were a smartass back then too."

Phillip nodded and opened his mouth hesitantly. "Can I ask why you're here, sir?"

The Director paused before clearing his throat and turning to face his agent. "I thought I should come by to personally, officially invite you back to your unit at Shield."When Phillip didn't immediately respond, Fury continued. "It's been almost a month, Barton. Your unit's down a field agent. Times almost up before I have to issue a replacement."

Phil looked down and bit his lip. "Ah, yes sir. I'll be back, officially in the system again by monday."

"Good." The older man nodded and promptly left the room.

Phil didn't notice the spare glance Nick shot towards the bedroom, taking a second to take a last look at the place his best agent used to call home.

* * *

"Knock, knock, therapist." Mark smirked from his dorm room bed before answering the door. He was greeted to Phil, smirking while leaning against his doorframe with a duffel over his shoulder. "Hey, baby brother." He greeted smugly.

"Hello, Phillip." Mark sighed before gesturing him to come into the tiny bedroom. Phil strutted in smoothly and threw the bag on the desk chair. "You going back to the base?"

"Ah, yes. Yeah, tonight." Phil admitted. He leaned against the wall and nudged his duffle with his foot. "Just thought I'd drop by before I left. Time to get back to life, you know?"

Mark hummed and sat back down on his bed. "You know it's only been a week, right? You don't really have to rush back into it yet." He looked up at the redhead.

Phil twisted his face and shrugged. "I don't know, man. Amy's gone back to school, you're...here, it would just be me and awkward checkups from your mom." He huffed a laugh. "But uh, how's Claire? I haven't seen her in a while."

"Claire's good, Claire's, great." Mark nodded awkwardly and linked his fingers together. "David's good, too. He's met someone." The other man spared a glance at his brother's expression.

"Good. Good. Good for David. He should be, doing that." Phil cleared his throat and rubbed the nape of neck. He rolled his eyes when Mark shot him a sorry glance and picked up his duffel bag. "Well, I'm gonna head out."

"No, c'mon Phil." Mark stood up a put his arm in front of the door. "I'm sorry, we'll hang out before you leave."

"Nah, it's fine. I came here, I said hi, I told you I was leaving again. So, I'm good. We're good, don't worry about it." Phillip pushed his arm away. "But, next weekend, or when I'm here, we'll do something, bring your friends."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Why? You hate most of your peers."

"Because...you actually have friends now and I'd like to meet them?" Phil shrugged and started walking down the hallway. Mark scoffed before calling out to him.

"Be safe, mom." He muttered the last mocking word.

"Have a good time, honey bear."

* * *

SHIELD was different, Phillip liked that.

People back at high school were only worried about typical high school things. Do I look okay? Do people think I'm a slut? Are my grades bad? Who likes me? That's type of shit. Phil never liked that.

Agents didn't care about that stuff.

They were realistic. The other members in the unit, or partnership, could walk out the door and never come back. They were only a bullet away from dying and a finger twitch from causing death.

Usually agents have five people in a unit. A field issued medic, a tech, and two regular combat field agents. They bunk together, train together, and eat together. Their breaks are scheduled at the same time. Have they same handler. Are forced to get along or someone ends up dead.

Phillip actually liked his unit.

He was the youngest, only eighteen when he was recruited, put in combat field along with Alex Garrack. He was a good ten years older than Phillip, and one of the best. Garrack was all serious-game-plan guy almost all the time, only a select few could crack a smile out of him. Black hair, a bit of Italian mixed in him. Jessica West (Jessica A. West, actually. Or Jaws, as she is referred to by Alex. And only Alex, they were foster-siblings as teenagers. Went their separate ways and ended up back side by side) was their medic, a total no bullshit stick it to the man kinda girl with dirty blonde hair. But she was a prodigy in medicine, graduated med school at twenty two and joined SHIELD immediately after they found her in military prison for punching the lieutenant colonel in the face, only six years ago. The tech was Aaron Rice, yes, Rice. He was not Asian of any decent, nor has he ever owned/worked on a rice farm. He pointed this out very quickly to Phil when they were introduced. Dark skinned, short, black hair, not totally a nerd, but not the most intimidating guy.

There trainer was Payton McCoy. Black hair, tall, she'll work you like a slave. McCoy had Phil doing combat at five in the morning 'till breakfast at eight, then West and Rice joined them for more combat 'till eleven. Two hour break for lunch and relaxing. Then Garrack and Phil had basic training with Agent Brant that ended at six while West and Rice had specialized training for their fields. Dinner. Weapons/anything else she thought they could work on training until eleven. Everyone had Sundays off unless a situations calls for them not to. Every schedule can be rearranged to fit a mission briefing and recovery if needed.

Like summer camp all over again.

But they were good people. Not dicks, and not pansies. But there wasn't exactly a warm welcome when Phil first joined.

Fury put Phillip on that squad after the standard issue eight months of basic training, because one, they were the best beside operatives, and two, they had an open spot thanks to the death of their old fourth. Benjamin Dinato. Gunned down in Guinea, one second he was there and the next he wasn't. West and Rice weren't too cold to him, warmed up in a week's time. Garrack wasn't about to let Phil replace Dinato so easily. Made that clear to him the first day, and Phil wasn't too jovial about Dinato either. It took a mission gone to hell in Dubai ending up with Phillip nearly getting himself killed for them to have the older man stop hating him.

From there on in it was like four peas in a pod.

"Welcome back, ginger. Sorry about your dad, glad you're back." West greeted quickly as soon as he walked into their bunker. Then she sent him a wave and out she went. Phil gave a small wave a nod back to her.

The bunker had a bunk bed and a single bed, West had a connecting room. Phil had top bunk, Rice had bottom, Garrack got the single. They switch it up every two years or so. There were two dressers at the back wall, under the window, a coffee machine on top of it. A TV Aaron built himself hooked up to the wall and a bathroom next to it. A wall where they kept all their weapons slid open by the dresser. Everyone had their own respective space to put mostly whatever they wanted wherever the wanted.

Rice built himself a dork's paradise. Small TV hooked up to the wall on the foot of the bed, He said he rigged the XBox connected to it to accept every disc game for any device, but Phil rarely sees him play anything on it. So he'd never really got the chance to actually test it. The bunk was high enough so you could sit up in the bottom bed, so Aaron got himself a shelf so his feet could fit right under it. Three computer screen, not counting the TV were spread across that shelf. A flexible keyboard with several odd looking keys that Phillip didn't know what they were, were included on the board. Headphones displayed from hooks on the wall. Garrack complained that Rice's crap shined too much light when the man was sleeping, so a curtain was on the top bunk's framework so Aaron could block Alex from seeing any light.

Alex's single bed and wall was plain. A few books on the nightstand, and knife under the pillow with a gun in the drawer. A picture of West and him when they were teenagers was folded and tucked in the drawer. Clothes were in one corner of the dresser.

Phil has yet to see what West's room looked like.

Phil only had a few pictures hanging up. One of him and Amelia, her right beside him at Tony's malibu home almost ten years ago. They were falling from the high dive, a pose of the two holding each other's hands above their heads as they fell towards the water. Him and Mark at Bruce and Darcy's wedding when they were little, both with uncomfortable suits on and cake all over them. Mark was pointing to Phil as if to say "He did it!". A more recent one of the boys, when Mark was graduating, he had his cap and gown a piece of paper on and Phil just stood next to him, without anything like that. Mark held a sign that said "Graduated", Phil had one that said "Didn't" with a smug smirk. Another one of all the kids and parents from last Christmas. A real boring picture, but Phil kept it. The last one was one of him and Natasha, he was only four and they were having a picnic during some day in July. Amelia was just born, you could barely see the top of Phil's face because Clint decided he could aim and arrow, but not a camera. So it was mostly Natasha, the sky, and tuffs of Phil's red hair.

The redhead sighed and dropped his duffle on the dresser to be unpacked later. He took out the old box that had Clint's stuff that was worth keeping in it, and placed it under the dresser. He couldn't leave it at the apartment, he didn't think he could go back there again anyway. Phil cleaned it out, there was almost nothing left, besides Amelia's stuff that she hadn't taken with her to school. But the agent still couldn't go back there, not to an empty place with only memories. He was back at Shield, this was more home than the Tower to him now.

He had to move on.

* * *

**_So...That. _**

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